The Lost Man
by Lynn Osburn
Summary: FINAL CHAPTER UPDATED! What will come in part 2? RR
1. Disclaimer

Disclaimer: My gods, she writing something PG? It's the Apocalypse! Most characters are property of Disney/Buena Vista Corporation. Any names you don't recognize are mine. At least as much as they can be.  This is meant to be done in the old fangirl tradition, sorcerer meets girl, plans to exploit her and eventually falls in love. Hey don't bitch. Sometimes it's good to get back to basics. BTW, the names you see here are taken from popular Celtic and Irish heroes, but they are NOT the heroes themselves. Too much of a time warp that I don't feel like dealing with. The poem here is of Celtic origin, though I couldn't for the life of me tell you who wrote it. You may notice part way through I stop using italics when somebody speaks. I found this necessary as the character can not remember his native tongue and thus must assume that he is speaking naturally.

A NOTE ON DRUIDRY: I would have to say that out of this entire thing, only about 1/300th of it is based on 'real' Druidry, be it ancient or modern. Believe me, I wouldn't be here explaining it if I didn't feel it deserved explanation. My intentions with this fiction, (and bare in mind the word fiction) was not **accuracy **but rather **atmosphere.** I wanted to create an image of a world unlike most of the other fictions out there, taking on a group that isn't often used and a culture that is so detailed that to skip out on certain things would kill the point of the whole fic. There is so little known about the actual Druids of ancient Gaul, and most of it was written by outsiders who (like the Victorian society of England) felt themselves better than these 'simple' and 'barbaric' people. So every word we do have is to be taken with a grain of salt.

Now with that said, I would like to say that Druidry is indeed alive and flourishing today in many forms and facets. If you would like to research the noble art in it's modern day incarnation, try researching the following organizations.

Reformed Druids of North America

(RDNA)

Ancient Order of Druids in America

(AODA)

Order of Bards, Ovates, and Druids

(O.B.O.D)


	2. Chapter One

It was a blood curtailing scream the brought the attention of the his caregivers. The rushed inside the quaint thatched hut, baring expressions of concern and curiosity at this loud guest. He made for quite an image, sitting upright on the carved bed, thick black locks rung around his head, sticking out from between extensive bandaging. His face was long and aquiline, his eyes not black but indeed such a pale gray one would think he was missing his iris. He tried to stand, but again bandaging made it obvious that his body was not capable of many physical activities right now. But the one part of his body left unbandaged was the part with the most extensive damage.

The guest sat in the bed, staring at his dilapidated hand and screaming.

It turn his caregivers a moment to wrestle him to the bed and clamp a strong hand over his mouth. He could hear their voices above him, some cursing in a strange tongue, others trying to speak him into calmness. A myriad of male and female voices called out above him, but his eyes were cloaked behind a cloud of mist. He could see their shapes, but faces were a blur.

_"Tristan he keeps slipping back and forth. Isn't their something you can do?" _This voice soft, but old, …self assured.

_"Not yet. He injuries are sever, he must have fallen from quite high. It is best to keep him sleeping until his body is used to it's current state, from there we can heal him properly." _Male, defiantly male, strong, commanding. This man had to be in some leadership role.

_"Bah! We need to get him moving now, before his muscles deteriorate."_ Male again, much younger and arrogant in the way all young people are.

_"Be silent Essus! Let the man sleep."_ Female, proud, and strict.

Warm flesh pressed against his forehead and he felt a calm overtaking the pain and ache of his body. "_Sleep now man. You bed amongst friends_." Suddenly his body felt **exhausted**. He stopped his insane thrashing and shivered, the straw stuffed mattress suddenly felt so inviting and comfortable. The sheets made from tanned animal hide were so warm he felt encased and protected. The air flooded with a sense of comfort and serenity, and he closed his eyes, falling into slumber.

**Light pours forth on blinded eyes.  
I face the truth of my demise.**

Wind fluttered in through the open doorway, when he awoke next. He was calm this time, his head protesting against another outburst as he slowly sat up. It hurt like hell to make that movement, but his body forced him to test his muscles. He opened his eyes, and found vision from only one. He reach up gingerly and felt the wrappings around his head, covering off half his face. He groaned at the discovery and started to look around.

He was in a hut, a well made hut with stone going up for at least four feet then turning into closely tied wood and mud to hold the cold at bay. The roof was thatched, but sturdy and obviously a year or two old. The bed he had lay on was simple, but soft as goose down and sturdy. Well tended animal pelts had been draped over him and indeed a great deal of the home seemed taken up by some sort of animal remains or another. Something caught his eye, a pair of massive stag antlers, polished to near ivory, decked with bronze bangles, inlaid with amber and small emeralds.

"Beautiful piece of work isn't it? Our smith Brigon made it many many years ago before his arm went off in battle. To this day people still praise it's craftsmanship." The injured man turned to see a tall, broad shouldered fellow just walking in the doorway. He cross between the bed and the post where the antlers hung and patted them fondly. "There is not another piece like this in all Erin, and that is not just pride speaking." The man was well aware that he was being watched guardedly. Though his guest might not be aware that he showed it.

With near thirty or more summers behind him as the Chief Druid, Tristan was something of an expert at reading people. This fellow had lain injured and near deaths door for a good month now and yet he had given much of his character and nature away. He was a man with enemies, that was obvious by how he reacted to those trying to help him. He had shouted and cursed at them, calling foreign names as if they were the cause of his current state. It was possible that he was in a fever induced hallucination, but from the way he looked at Tristan, as if the druid a dog and he a cat, he doubted it.

"_Where am I_?" The pale, lanky stranger asked quickly, his voice sharp as a boar tusk. "_How did I come to be here_?"

Tristan arched an eyebrow. _"You speak our language then? Very interesting."_ Tristan coughed, the strangers accent was unusual, not one he personally had come across before, but he could recognize the Persian dialect with which the man had spoke in his pain induced fit. He could speak it well enough to convey a point. "You may talk in your native tongue if you wish friend. I'll not hold it against you."

"_My native tongue_?" He paused. Had he been speaking in a different language just now? He couldn't remember being taught this strong, brash language. It sounded strange on his lips just now, but he had assumed he spoke it naturally. If he was not speaking in his own language, how did he know to speak in this one. He shook his head and went dizzy with pain. He sunk back to the pillows as a firm hand pressed against his temples.

"_Are you telling me you remember nothing before now?" _The man asked gently.

He tried hard, which only made his brain swim again. _"I remember struggling… my hand slipping, and slamming against something hard…several times." _He said with an air of complaint as he looked down at his bruised and wrapped body.

_"Do you remember a name? Any name at all?"_

He squinted and shook his head. _"Wait…I feel…something with an M…" _

_"Mael? Manann…Mandred…Midhir…"_ Tristan ran through some of the name he knew and the young man bit his lip.

Suddenly his sharp gray eyes flew open. "Mozenrath…I think my name is Mozenrath."


	3. Chapter Two

A woman entered, her face mostly covered by a ceremonial hood over her head. "Tristan, I brought the medicine from Cigfa as soon as she'd finished it." She suddenly turned, and Mozenrath caught a glimpse of the most beautiful hazel eyes he'd ever seen. Bright as amber and flecked with green and gold, they looked back at him appraisingly. "Ah. I see your guest has awakened Tristan. Do you wish me to leave?" Her voice! It sounded like songbirds whispering at dawn! Mozenrath felt himself woozy with delight.

"Not at all." Tristan stood up, his mass of long peppery gray hair falling to his waist. "Mozenrath…this is Iaine, one of our younger druids."

Iaine took her hood off and the corner of her lips pulled. She was a strong featured woman, her face was short and firm, with a squared off jaw and expressive lips. Her hair hung around her face in braids the color of fresh honey and tied about in bright red bands. She **was** smiling at him he realized when he looked up at her. "Good day. Are your injuries bad?"

He started to straighten up, the pride of a young cock preparing to strut for a hen, and groaned in agony. Iaine chuckled and took a glass bottle from her cloak. "Relax." She said insistently and pushed him with a single hand back down. "You can't risk opening those slashes on your back again."

Mozenrath started to obey, breaking eye to eye contact and suddenly felt very different. As soon as he'd started into her eyes a kind of drunken stupor had come over him, he felt enamored, intoxicated, but that moment she'd looked away his mind had come back to him in a flash. He growled, something inside of him rebelling. He didn't like magic being used on him. He didn't like the feeling of being controlled.

Tristan took the bottle from her and nodded. "You might want to go help everyone prepare for tonight. I'm not sure our guest can take much more of your… natural charm."

To his surprise Iaine blushed brightly. "I'm sorry, sometimes I forget." She brought the hood back up over her face and nodded to Mozenrath, hurrying out the door and letting the bright sunlight stream in. For the briefest of instants, Mozenrath could swear he saw a bird taking flight. But it was gone as soon as the flap closed and Mozenrath grit his teeth against the glare.

"Don't be embarrassed Mozenrath. Iaine has that effect the first few times you see her. It's different if you've known her since she was a little one, but strangers like you aren't ready for it." Tristan chuckled and looked over the bottle. "Ah, perfect. You can always count on Cigfa for remedies. You caught a bad infection while you were out and we've been treating it with a salve."

"How did I…" Mozenrath began insistently.

"I'm sure you have a great many questions." Tristan said, halting the mans words. "Please, allow me to tend to you and I will explain how you got to be here." He was a druid, first most and for most. He needed to be sure that this man wasn't going to come down with any sort of sickness that could spread to the rest of the village. Foreigners always ran the risk of bringing some new disease or illness in that he and his people couldn't fight. Tristan could recognize most sicknesses before they had a chance to spread, otherwise he would have let Iaine or one of the other druidess handle this. It was certainly more pleasant to have a young, handsome woman tending to a young man's injuries than some white bearded old fellow.

"You were discovered by one of our hunters…" He explained, unwrapping the young man with as much gentleness as possible. There were no broken bones thank the spirits, but some skin had been scratched off in several places, bruises the size of a forearm and many sprains. "You were lucky you'd been discovered so quickly, other wise the damage could have been quite extensive."

Mozenrath snorted, somehow feeling that he hadn't needed any help. The druid touched lightly against one of the places where skin had been separated from muscle and the young man whimpered, gripping the pillows tightly. "How long have I been here?"

Tristan tilted the open bottle into his hands and a smooth, slightly green fluid came out. He rubbed the stuff between his callused palms and began to work it into the wounds. He whispered softly under his breath, making sure his words went unheard. Immediately a cool, refreshing feeling spread over Mozenrath's entire body, an almost tickling sensation at his bruised ribs and battered shoulders. Tristan nodded. "About two weeks." He said, satisfied as the soft white blue glow dissipated, soaking into the open injuries. "You were out cold at first, we've been force feeding you broth and bread, you woke up half way through and had a fever induced hallucination, took five people to hold you…"

"And this." He held up his hand. "Is this from…whatever happened to me?"

Tristan sighed. "This kind of hurt…" he took the skeletal digits in his hand. Mozenrath suddenly felt weird. This thing, these bones where warm flesh should be, nobody had ever touched them before. He felt like they had been hidden…and should stay that way. "This kind of hurt drives deep. I do not think a fall down a mountain would have caused this kind of damage."

"What could have…?"

Tristan's face suddenly became quite serious. His penetrating blue eyes looked down into Mozenrath black ones, as if wondering if this memory loss could be false. "We will speak of this later. Right now I need to see how well you can move. Come." He stood suddenly. "We are going to attempt a walk around the village."


	4. Chapter Three

A sea of emerald green stretched out before Mozenrath's sight. As the wind blew across the village the grass waved back like little jewels, shining in the morning sunlight. The smell of rain and conifers flooded his nose and he sniffed as if congested, unused to the air here. Everything smelled dewy, even the hut he had emerged from. The huts were strangely shaped, like clichéd wizard hats with thick moss and wood covering them. Outside most of them stood tall looms, attended by women weaving some of the most complicated patterns he had ever seen. As he watched, figures began to emerge, strange and mystical gold hounds on a field of red and green, a man with large eyes and a great beard stood above many smaller men wielding a bizarre spear with three heads.

A bakery of sorts stood off to one side, many clay ovens cooking bread. The scent wafted over him and he realized quite suddenly how hungry he was. A tall woman looked over and smiled, recognizing Tristan. She was using a great stone to grind thick yellow grain to a fine power. He waved back and continued leading Mozenrath on the tour. "Are you alright? Your shivering." The druid asked suddenly.

Mozenrath hadn't allowed himself to say anything, but he was **freezing**.

"You must not be from around here, it is almost Beltane, your shaking like it's Yule." Tristan shook his head. "I will see if Essus has any spare cloaks for you."

Mozenrath grimaced when his guides back was turned. The clothing he wore felt common and itchy against his soft skin. Most of what he wore was made from wool or animal hide, not to mention it was at least two sizes too big for him. Apparently their smith had (one of the only bachelors in the village) had given up some of his wear for the stranger as most of his clothing had been torn beyond repair from the fall.

Mozenrath would just as soon have gone naked. He couldn't figure out **why** this clothing made him feel uncomfortable. He should be grateful for rags! These people were already taking care of him, had saved from certain death and tended to him like one of their own. Why then did he feel as if he should be strutting about in silks and…satin? He wore a pair of deer hide breeches that had been patched once or twice, a loin cloth, tunic, and solid animal hide boots. A massive belt that dwarfed his already too thin waist and a leather strip had been used to tie back his unusually thick black locks. He'd been given a comfortable pair of gloves to cover his grotesque hand with. He couldn't look too awful, some of the women had notice his presence and their stares were not entirely ones of apprehension. But still…

Apparently Essus did have extra cloaks and brought them himself. A shorter, stocky man with the starting of a beard, he couldn't be more than two years Mozenrath's junior, but he carried himself with a familiar arrogance. The younger man looked him up and down and handed the cloaks over with barely a word, acting preoccupied. What went unspoken between them did not need to be said.

Foreigner.

Uppity brat.

Tristan smirked and arched a thick gray eyebrow. "He is a remarkable one isn't he? He is just under me as a druid, may take the position as chief when I pass on." Tristan looked at the expression of distaste on Mozenrath face and smiled broadly. "May…" he stressed and they continued onward.

A flock of children ran by, chasing a pig skin ball and tossing it from one to the other. As he watched, it became obvious that the children wearing three or more colors were leading the rest. They also seemed to have small, crude bracelets or rings around their fingers. As Mozenrath came to this realization he noticed that those with more colors on their clothing seemed to be doing better than those with less. Apparently this marked a chaste system. No one seemed desperately poor or lacking the essentials, it was just that some had more or finer things, others less. The whole place had a thoroughly rustic charm.

Mozenrath also began to notice that certain people, only a few out of the mass that seemed to make up this tribe, wore an eggshell shade of white somewhere on their bodies, aside from their otherwise common cloth. Tristan specifically hailed these people as they passed and they marked each other with varying degrees of respect and conversation. Most of it seemed to be about the soon to come celebration of Beltane. Apparently it was quite a large festival, expected to draw a massive crowd this year. After a while, once Tristan was sure he would neither cause nor come to harm, he left Mozenrath to his own devises.

"Your no chick in need of a mother hen." He said as he talked to another of those white marked people. This seemed to be a dismissal, one he was not entirely sure of. A stranger, of unknown origins, left to wander freely on his own? He would never do something like that…would he? Well at any rate, it didn't feel like something he would do. Still, if he going to go about unwatched, he may as well acquaint himself with the place.


	5. Chapter Four

Tristan waited patiently until his guest was out of hearing range before continuing his conversation with fellow druid. "I know it's a risk. But Ossian the man doesn't even remember who he is."

"He remembers his name. And with a man like him that's more than enough for me." Ossian crossed his muscular arms. He was only a decade younger than Tristan, and the two often sought council in one another. He had only a few streaks of gray in his dark blond braids and cool green eyes set under a heavy brow. He was in reality a quite cheerful man, but that brow often made one think twice before setting about in a tangle with him.

"But beyond that what?" Tristan argued. "Are we to kill him for a crime he did not commit? Are we to execute a man for a past he does not remember." He frowned. "That sits ill on my stomach Ossian."

"But he did attempt to steal the artifact Tristan. He failed, but he attempted. I admire the bold, but the brash and power-mad… It's besides the point. He is a necromancer, one of those foul death callers from the desert. His magic is not like ours, he uses the force of those from the Otherworld, abuses it even. He shows no respect or reverence for the balance of nature." Ossian shivered from the thought of it.

Tristan sighed. He too had dealt with the magic of the Otherworld as part of his training. He had communicated with his ancestors and left offerings for them at Samhain. But there was a fine line between working **with** the dead, and **abusing** them. "Perhaps… perhaps he can be taught…"

"You speak of bringing him into the fold." Ossian rubbed his beard. "Damn. We don't even know if he could be taught our ways. That nasty thing he used to cover his hand, I was trying to figure it out as you asked me too." He took Tristan by the shoulders and looked deep into his eyes. "It's an evil piece of magic there old friend. There's something…dark…wicked trapped inside that hurts when you touch it too close."

"Are you saying that thing is…conscious?"

"Aware would be a better term. It is not active without someone wearing it I think. But when I tried to break it's spells, it defended itself." Ossian lifted up the sleeve of his tunic to show a burn mark in the shape of a left hand.

"Have Cigfa put ointment on that soon." He grimaced and bit his lower lip, chewing it as he often did when stressed.

"My wife has already taken care of it, I left it unwrapped to show you." He pulled his sleeve back down. "May I offer a piece of advise? It is nearly Beltane…and it has been five years…"

Tristan closed his mouth with a snap and Ossian was cut off. "I do not think it would be wise to offer this man as our emissary to the gods. We still have prisoners from the cattle raid earlier this year, and they do not fear the fires as a foreigner would." What Tristan was not saying struck a cord with Ossian, and he debated weather to ask our not. Tristan did not give him the opportunity. "Do you remember that dream I had two months ago?"

"Remind me." He sat down across the chief druid and handed him a mug of beer.

Tristan took a long sip and silenced himself, thinking back. "In my dream, I was in a field of wheat, and a great black boar stood across the field from me. He was huge, with great ivory tusks and eyes red as fire. As he began to run to me, I tried to move, but could not. Closer and closer he came, and as he drew near I could see the blood coating his mouth, ready to taste my insides. But I did not move, I was afraid of him, for he could easily overpower me. But I was no afraid. He came nearer, roaring in anger. And just as I though he would tear my gut from me, I held out my hand, and the black boar became white at my touch."

Ossian took a deep deep drink of beer and closed his eyes. "I hear what you are saying. But Tristan, keep in mind." He looked off to where Mozenrath had gone. "Black or white, a boar still sharpens his tusks."


	6. Chapter Five

Mozenrath followed the scent of fresh water as he wound his way through the trees. There was some sort of path wound through here, just a little line where the plants threatened to encroach. A sound called his attention, something like a kitten mewling for attention. He hurried forward just in time to catch the sight of a falcon diving into the weeds of the river bank. There was a rustle and it soared back as if it had barely touched the ground, a fat duck in it's curved claws. It was a beautiful creature with a blazingly white breast and dark pine brown back. He watched it catch a thermal and ride it high into the sky, it's captivating hazel green eyes staring down at the interloper.

It sailed off behind the tree line and Mozenrath waited for a moment as if expecting it to circle around again. A sudden movement caught his attention in the brush and his eyes snapped to the spot. Something was moving through the woods at a fast pace straight at him. He raised his hand instinctively and suddenly wondered why he would do such a thing. Was that his knife hand? It had to be. Too bad he had no knife in it.

He back away, looking for something to defend himself with. What kind of predators frequented this area? He saw a sharp stone and grabbed for it quickly, planning to either hurl it for distraction or use as a stabbing implement. A flash of white caught his eye and he gasped.

"Planning to throw something at me are you?"

Mozenrath couldn't possibly realize how idiotic he looked right then, mouth wide open, eyes blinking quickly at the sight of those unimaginably wonderful eyes. "N…no …I…wasn't going to…." He tried to shake himself out of that stupor when she must have realized what she was doing to him.

"Sorry…again." Iaine closed her eyes and strained for a moment, when they opened again it seemed like the gold flecks had disappeared. "I'm not used to having to guard myself like that around my kin."

"Kin…this whole village is related?" Mozenrath said, half out of curiosity, but mostly to get the subject of the inane way he acted when she surprised him like that.

"No, that would cause inbreeding. But we are for the most part extended family." She gestured to a row of well thatched huts. "See that one with the large cauldron outside the door? I was born in that hut. My father is one of the best warriors of our clan, Felim. He led a cattle raid about eighteen years ago on a neighboring village and in the process brought back home my mother, Blai. Some say she was forced, but as far as I can tell she's never complained about the arrangement."

"Ah, so you kidnap from other clans to keep from mating with your own." Mozenrath concluded, pleased that they ploy had worked. Something about her appearance set him on edge, besides the suddenness of it. Did falcons normally have such human like eyes? He doubted it.

"Not always, sometimes the brides settle on a _coibach_, a bride price." Iaine said, smoothing out her long plaited hair. He noticed a bronze ornament hanging off the end, a beautiful design with those confusing braids that seemed to be so popular around here. "My father had already prepared one for me, until Tristan realized my potential and asked for me as a druid apprentice. I was not betrothed officially, so the boys parents could not object."

"Did you?" Mozenrath asked, careful to keep his eyes off her face. "Object I mean?" He suddenly realized he was still holding the rock. He dropped it quickly and tried to make himself straighten up. He looked a mess compared to her, in his mish meshed clothing that didn't fit. She was wearing a white tunic that ended just at her knees and mahogany breeches that closed off into slim boots. She had little pieces of jewelry here and there, nothing to large or ostentatious. Iaine was quite statuesque, her body was strong, yet not physically muscular, still a little of the baby fat left over from younger years to be charming. As the sun light pushed through the bars of the canopy, Mozenrath realized there were little highlights of red here and there, giving her an overall golden look.

He realized that her feature were stunning without the aid of her binding eyes.

Iaine pretended that she did not notice his stare, or his ploy. She was, in essence, keeping him occupied as much as she could Tristan had made her aware of this sorcerers past, as well as what it could mean for his future. The Beltane fires. It was no dishonor to go to them, indeed many a captured warrior felt it his duty to go. But this man would not understand that, he would be afraid. Fear was something no Celt showed. Iaine felt it wrong, even with what the fool had attempted before his 'unfortunate' accident. But it was not her place to question this, she was still an apprentice in the druid grove.

But the night of Beltane was made for more than sacrifice. If he was indeed to go to the fires, she would make his last night a memorable one. He was nice enough company, thought she could not compare it to his former amiability. And she was enjoying showing him around the village while Tristan and Ossian spoke with the other druids. She would be able to find out what they had decided later on. "Your name is Mozenrath…yes?" Iaine said as she turned to look at him.

"I…believe so yes." He straightened up forcefully in front of her, determined to assert himself no matter what the situation, She had caught him off guard, no more would he allow that gaze of hers to trap him. The problem was he couldn't tell if his resistance was working until it was to late.

"I…have never heard of a name quite like that before. It is pronounced oddly."

Unsure if he was being made fun of, Mozenrath sneered. "Like Tristan said, I'm not from around here." He started to walk ahead of her, attempting to take the lead, but she quickly caught up with him. "I don't need a guide." He said and began to jog."

"How do you know? You don't even know who you are, so how do you know you don't need a guide?" Iaine was smiling now, a little playfully. Her legs strode to keep up with him.

"Well I don't need someone teasing me damn it!" Mozenrath was picking ups peed as Iaine switched her position and began keeping tag alongside him.

"Once again, how do you know your being teased? How do you know anything? Do you know that the sky is blue right now? Do you know your male?" Her grin was as broad as a crescent moon. "You are male right?"

Mozenrath's cheeks turned beet red and he broke into a full run, his long legs passing his companion quickly. To his amazement Iaine merely picked up speed, controlling her breath so as not to run out. No one tried to stop them as they crossed through the huts and past the cattle. They ignored the curious looks of the shepards boys as they ran out through the wheat fields and into the glade.

"You run fast for a skinny, injured man." Iaine taunted, almost childishly at him and Mozenrath's eyes narrowed. How dare she tease him like that! He tried to push himself faster, when all of the sudden, his body protested, violently.

Iaine forced herself to stop as the pale man came crashing to the ground, holding his leg and trying to breath evenly. "Oh!" she turned around and took out a goat skin full of cool water. "Sorry…I forgot up until I said something." Mozenrath growled at her but snatched up the skin from her hands, drinking it quickly and ignoring her reproachful look. "It wasn't a fair race. You may have beaten me if you were so badly hurt."

"Who said you won?" He tossed the water back to her and grabbed hold of a tree limb to try and pull himself up. She reached out to help him and he pushed her off, thought more aggravated at her or himself he wasn't sure. He grimaced and forced himself not to whimper as his skin burned when he supported his own weight. Why hadn't he felt this bad before.

_Gee dummy, maybe because you weren't running yourself into a heart attack to impress a girl._

Iaine tilted her head to one side, watching him struggle not to show weakness. She could easily admire his independence, his desire to accomplish on his own even when he really did need the help. A true Celt, she knew how precious pride was to any man, and though he would suffer for his later, let him take his time standing and walking again. "Ulster." She said suddenly and he turned to look at her, confused. "You asked in your sleep, 'Where am I.' I thought you might still want the answer."

Mozenrath spun around to make some sarcastic remark when a great call like a heron went up through the air. He started, but A sudden light came over Iaine's face. "It's almost time." She said softly. "Here." She took Mozenrath's stronger arm with a no nonsense kind of attitude. "I'll help you back to the hut."


	7. Chapter Six

I'll not resist, though pain is strong -  
The ending notes of one last song.

"Listen to me Mozenrath." Iaine said as she helped a grudgingly accepting Mozenrath back to Tristan's hut. "No matter what happens, don't try to leave unless your summoned. " she gave no parting words but disappeared before he could tell her how he despised following orders.

Mozenrath rose to look outside of the animal skin blocking the doorway and jumped back just in time to avoid two long lances crossing in front of him. He landed on his backside and saw two strong armed, burly men standing guard at the doorway, glaring at him through blue paint tattoos and fierce eyes. He didn't give them the satisfaction of knowing they'd startled him but sniffed as though he'd smelt something particularly nasty.

Despite how uncaring he was attempting to be, this whole place had him on edge. The way he was being constantly watched, how everyone was being so 'nice' to him. Something was going on under the surface of these serene faces and it made him even more desperate to find out why he was here. Mozenrath searched the contents of the hut, not really giving a crap that it wasn't his hut and found a satchel of dried meat. He sat in a corner and gnawed at it absently, trying to figure this situation out.

Number one: he was not from this village, besides it being made bluntly obvious, his entire body gave away the fact that he wasn't a local. He was lean and wiry, where as most of the men here had some muscle built up on them just from day to day labor. He was exceedingly pale while most of the folk in these parts were a normal, healthy flesh shade. So if he wasn't from around here, how did he get so far from anyone who looked like him?

Number two: His hand? How on earth did such a wretched, nasty thing come to be on him? He uncovered his tunic to get a full look at the bones. They were clean, bleached by years of exposure, so it was not from his recent accident. As he looked closely there were nicks and chips in the skeletal structure, showing that his hand had been exposed when he fell. That meant it must have been covered at some point. But by what? And, now that he thought about it, why did he feel especially at unease when one of those druids came around. It was as if a part of their being called out to him, questioning, curious as to his nature.

The smell of smoke drifted in, and he could catch the hint of roasted meat on the pit. Mozenrath rolled his eyes. It had to be that damn holiday Baleen or whatever they called it. He shifted his cloak up around his shoulders and tried to get comfortable. He sure as hell wasn't going to stick around to discover what everyone was so apprehensive about. Especially not under armed guard who wanted him to stay where he could be easily found. Mozenrath began checking the inside of the hut, looking for any week spots.

He found one soon enough, right where the stove was located. Under the stove was a place where soot and ash could bee removed from the outside so as not to spill and ruin items indoors. It was a narrow hole, but light was clearly visible on the other side. Carefully, Mozenrath removed the tin pan placed underneath, making sure no sound called the guards to check on him. He lay it carefully next to the stove and looked around for something to take with him. He didn't know where he was or where he was going. Best to be prepared.

After scrounging around the tables he found a good piece of flint and a crude but solid bone handled knife. He pocketed the rest of the dried meat and searched out a water skin. A few more items packed away, (mostly things that looked medicinal like that salve Tristan had rubbed on him) and he felt secure enough to make his escape. He pushed it all inside a woolen satchel and squeezed it out through the small opening, checking to see if anyone was out there.

It took a great deal of grunting and quiet digging, but Mozenrath just made it through the hole as a shadow began to turn the corner of the chief druids domicile. Mozenrath bit his lip, plastering himself against the edge as a face appeared, then suddenly stopped as his/her name was called. He/she spun around with a happy look on his/her face and ran off to see someone. Mozenrath let out a breath and looked around. Apparently all the village was gathered in the center of the tribe. No one would bother with him for a good while. But he wasn't going to abuse how far luck was getting him tonight. He took off at a brisk pace, heading for the woods.

A full moon hung heavy over the world tonight, making everything in his path visible. He tried to avoid making too much noise, though even as the light of the village dimmed he could still hear the rancorous noises of drumming, dancing, flutes and drinking. Mozenrath smiled to himself. Even with his injuries he could be far away by mornings light, his trail gone. Feeling self satisfied, he began to slow down, allowing himself to get his bearings.

Another noise caught his attention and he froze, wary. It was a strange sound, short, frequent and feminine. He strained to hear and realized that a male voice accompanied it, longer and more grunting. It took Mozenrath a second to realize that he was standing less than six feet from a couple who had decided that Beltane was for lovers and wandered into the forest for a little privacy. Blushing more than he cared to in one day, he slowly backed away from the sight, hoping not to run into anyone else enjoying the same party activates.

He traveled for what seemed like hours until the moon rose in perfect position above him. A wind wound cleverly through the trees, carrying voices to him as he pulled his cloak tighter. He paused for a moment, wondering if he'd stumbled upon another night time tryst. But no, these voices were different, melodious and reverent. A strange pull started to make him move and for a second he felt dizzy.

Mozenrath gripped a tree to steady himself and shook his head. What was the music? Soft and light hearted, he could hear those voices chanting in time, preparing, calling to something he couldn't fathom. Entranced, more from curiosity than the spell of it, Mozenrath began to move forward, seeking the source. Light, bright blue light swam in from of him and he crept closer, feeling as if he passed through something as the trees gave way to a circle of people. He couldn't tell their sex one from the other, everyone wore a white robe with either yellow, red, blue or green markings on the elbows and necklines. And on top of that a hooded cloak of deep brown that let the shadow from the firelight play across their faces. Even those seemed sexless, but joined together as they rose in chorus with beautiful sounds, dancing with one another carelessly.

He could just barely pick out Iaine's features from the rest of them, she too was their, that precocious smile on her full lips as she danced with a taller, slightly older man. A few of the people sat off on a log, beating the drums as they danced around and around the bonfire. Mozenrath strained to make out the words.

**Burn burn the bon fire burn**

**Spirits of the evening rise**

**Burn burn the bon fire burn**

**Spirits of the darkening sky**

**May**

**The crops grow high**

**And women swell**

**With bellies full of child**

**The sow will root **

**The seed will grow**

**As high as the evening sky**

**Burn burn the bon fire burn**

**Spirits of the evening rise**

**Burn burn the bon fire burn**

**Spirits of the darkening sky**

The song continued until the last of the singers fell down in laughter amongst the others of their kind. One of them stood, and by the long beard Mozenrath had no doubt who. Tristan pulled back his hood to reveal his face, distinguished and serene in it's old age. The others followed suit, and finally Mozenrath could distinguish who was who. Indeed, everyone he had seen with a white band on their body was here now, and it hit Mozenrath like a bolt from the blue.

This was a druid ceremony.

Something told him to run, now before he was caught. Another part longed to linger and watch as the ritual continued and Tristan began to speak. Guess which part won.

He could barely make out the words, but the intention was clear. They were offering something to the deities of the planting season, thanking them for a good harvest the last year, and asking for a generous blessing on the fields for this season. As they began to prepare the alter, Mozenrath felt something creep along the back of his neck, making his hair stand on end. As he turned, something out of the corner of his eye moved and he jerked to find it again. The fireflies in the trees blinked back at in instantly rhythmic patterns, adding to the sensation that he was being watched.

When he turned back to the center, a man was being lead gently into the grove. He was young, perhaps in his mid twenties and strikingly good looking. He was without anything but a red ribbon in his braid and he knelt before Tristan and opened his arms wide. The chief druid was saying something in a suddenly serious voice. The young man was locked into position, forcing himself to face straight up into those stern and almost otherworldly eyes. He spoke the words 'I accept' with a pride and determination Mozenrath had never heard before, and suddenly ever druid there bowed reverently to him.

Two women came forward, baring a cloak of white deer hide, trimmed with beautiful golden threat and fastened with a magnificent brooch. Essus, the young druid who had lent Mozenrath his cloak uncovered a cloth on the alter, and raised the brilliantly decorated antlers from Tristan's home aloft. He took them to each man and woman in turn, letting him or her lay their hands upon the ivory horns or kiss them softly. When he came back around to the young man, he asked him something again. Perhaps his nerve was failing, for this time he only nodded in acceptance.

The antlers were placed on his head and he rose, truly a magnificent figure, like a deer sprung to human form. Iaine came forward, baring a silver chalice with a strange liquid inside. She tipped it to his lips and he took several big gulps, draining the glass dry. Iaine smiled and his and reached forward to kiss his cheek. He smiled at her in a strange way, and walked with his head held high to the alter stone.

His legs seemed to falter and two of the larger druids helped him lift himself onto the stone, laying down amongst the flowers and wreaths and other beautiful decorations. Ossian went to the head of the man and lifted his neck, exposing his throat. He raised his arms up high and began to call out in a triumphant and heralding voice what was to happen.

And Mozenrath saw the blade in his hand.

What he did next would change his life forever.


	8. Chapter Seven

If he had paid attention, he would have seen the light leave the brave young mans eyes before he reacted. He would have seen the last breath leave his body long before Ossian raised the blade. If he had paid any damn attention he would have realized that this was willing and a means of honor. But all he could see was the knife, and the dark firelight casting a shadow on the brave youth.

No one knew how to react when Mozenrath burst from the bushes to stop the knife from falling. There was not enough time to stop him, nor enough to speak when he suddenly grabbed hold of the young mans hand and the whole world crawled to a stand still.

When Mozenrath's hand touched his, a great breath erupted from the young mans chest. His eyes flew open and he began to breath with steady confidence. Mozenrath's mouth dropped open and he tried to jerk away, only to be grabbed with ferocity and pulled in close to the alter. He tried to scream, to ask for help, but there was no opportunity, all of the druids stood back, waiting, wanting to see the outcome.

The sacrificial man looked Mozenrath straight in the eyes, clasping onto his cheeks with a mighty grip when he tried to pull away. "The boar had begun his charge." He said with a voice barely human. He gave another great breath and lifted his head aloft, screaming to the heavens. "The boar has begun his charge!"

Mozenrath screamed and slammed his hands into the mans chest, falling back to the ground and staggering away. Hands fell upon his shoulders, holding him in place as the youth suddenly became very still and sunk in an almost dreamy way back to the cold stone.

Mozenrath looked up into Iaine's magnificent eyes, and fainted.

"Well this certainly simplifies things." Tristan said with a secretive smile on his face as the other druids talked amongst themselves. The ritual had been completed as soon as Mozenrath had been brought back to the village and tended to by some of the unmarried maidens. Ossian felt somewhat awkward as the sacrifice, dispatching a body which had just recently woken from a very power( but painless) poison to give a stunningly well timed prophesy. But still, there were other things to consider here, promises had been made and despite a little interference the ritual had gone on as planned. Now there was one question left.

What to do with the interloper?

"Simplifies things!" Essus roared, raising from his place on the bench. "Are you joking Tristan? This necromancer walked into the middle of a privet ritual and botched the entire thing! And we all just stood there like a bunch of deer caught in the torch light and…"

Ossian reached up and cuffed Essus on the back of the head. "Sit down and shut your yap. We can all hear ya without having to scream." He snorted and drew back his hood to ignore the insulted glare from Essus. "What I'm more interested in is the fact that he awoke a prophesy without the use of his magical glove. I thought for sure all his powers were tied up in that dark thing."

"But this could show potential." Cigfa, a woman of at least as many years as Tristan spoke up. "We all know the signs, they were spotted in us as children before we were asked…"

"As children." Another druid by name of Kilydd spoke up. "We were identified as child and trained from then on. Someone, someone warped and twisted, taught this boy magic from a very young age, or there is no way he would have sensed the pulse from the Otherworld that drew him to our ritual grove."

"Exactly what worries me." Ossian said. "He may not remember it, but the magic he was taught is filthy, unbalanced stuff. It's ingrained in his blood now. To the point of where he's not even aware he's being called to it." He drew the brown leather glove from his hip pocket, showing it to the others gathered. "I tell you now, no matter what is decided, this thing must be hidden or destroyed. It longs for a master, and will take back Mozenrath if it can." He threw it down in the middle of the ground, spitting on the fine leather angrily. To everyone's disgust the liquid hissed and gurgled back at him from the fabric.

"But if he can be taught a new way." Iaine said cautiously. "Darkness and light must exist together, this is one of the first lessons we learn as druids. We use the balance of nature in cooperation with our own powers. Once we learn this, it becomes almost second nature to care for our actions as we do for the green beneath us." She insisted. "I believe he could be taught this."

Tristan looked her up and down. "And…what makes you think him able to learn these new ways, our ways?"

"Did he not jump to defend that man? We think of this in the light of a willing sacrifice, going to the Otherworld in lee of his brothers in arms. To us it is a honorable and glorious death, a warriors right to chose how he passes. But to him it is a victim and a helpless person. He did not know that had he rescued that man, he only would have returned to the alter later to accept his honors."

"You are saying he has light, though he is unaware of it." Cigfa said.

"As unaware as he is of his darkness. Or so I think." Iaine closed her mouth and sat back, taking a sip of mead. She had said her peace, now it was time to let the words sink in.

"Not a choice to be made lightly Tristan." A druidess passing through from Connacht named Varia looked at the chief druid. There was something of a rivalry between Connacht and Ulster, seemed there always had been. And though druids passed through the deepest of enemy territories unharmed by tradition, there was always something of a game between rival groves to see how one another handled stress and unexpected complications. No doubt word would be carried back to the other druids of their respective kingdoms.

Tristan sighed and looked at the moon above. "Nor one to be made without a good nights sleep." He said smoothly. "My friends, Beltane has taken a toll on us, and it has been a doubly tiring night. May I suggest a good nights rest and a nice meal in the morning before we confer." There were weary nods all around, the kind that only hours of dancing, drinking, and singing can bring about. Even Varia gave a nod and stood up. "Very well. Ossian, where did you put our guest for the night?"

"He's over on the bachelors hut under the most powerful sleeping spell I could lay on him." Ossian gave a gruff nod. "I asked Fergus's daughter Savern to make sure he stays in bed and asleep." He gave an earthy chuckle. "Even if he does wake up, she'll make sure he doesn't go anywhere."


	9. Chapter Eight

When Mozenrath opened his eyes around the apogee of the sun, he was surprised to find a buxom woman with thick eyelashes and dark hair cuddled next to him. It was almost as shocking as realizing neither of them had clothing. She was a pretty thing, her arms wrapped tightly around his frame and smiling. He sat up and groaned, his head pounding like thunder. As soon as he looked around he realized he was not in Tristan's home, but surrounded by other men about his age, none of them seemed to be without a companion in the bunk with him. Most unclothed, and all with pleased smiles on their faces. Something in him rejected this close contact and he stirred, trying to untangle himself from the long, strong arms of the wench holding him.

She moved the moment he did and smiled. "Well hello there sleepy head." She grabbed his waist and pulled him back down. "You left me disappointed last night, sleeping so soundly with a body like mine so near." She stretched unashamed and it left Mozenrath no doubt that no man actually **slept** in the same bed with her.

"I...did?" he shook himself, reaching for the sheets to cover himself. What exactly had happened, he recalled a grove, singing, dancing, and a man wearing antlers.

It came back to him in a flash and he jerked out of Savern's grip, reaching around for clothing that looked familiar. He slipped on a pair of trousers and headed for the door. He backed away slowly, seeing a familiar shadow fall across the flap. He breathed in deep, looking around for a place to hide. Suddenly the woman's arms criss crossed around his shoulder and she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Don't be afraid, if they meant death for you it would have been done last night."

Iaine opened the door and did not look at all surprised to see Savern wrapped around Mozenrath. "Well, I see someone celebrated Beltane properly." She forced a smile and rummaged around till she found Mozenrath's tunic and boots and handed them to him. "You had quite an eventful night last night Mozenrath."

"Y…yes. About that, I…I didn't mean to intrude…I was just…"

"Trying to escape and blundered in." Iaine finished somewhat snappishly. "Yes we figured that out already. What you saw was a private ritual, not meant for non druidic eyes." She was, he noticed, dressed down from the last time he saw, as if she'd risen quickly to find him. Her stunning eyes had dark circles under them and if he didn't know better, Mozenrath would say she was suffering from little sleep and a hangover. She looked disheveled. "Look your best, the druids want to see you."

He was led across the town, still pulling his tunic over his head and nervous. What were they going to do? Had he broken some taboo? Had his interruption been so horrible that he was going to be the next man in the deer suit? He steeled his nerves and forced a calm over his body. If they thought they could kill him with the drugs and blades, they were sadly mistaken, he would fight every last one of them!

Aside from his fear, Mozenrath noticed that **he** was being taken notice of by nearly everyone in town. Fingers were being pointed and a wide berth was being given to the hung over druid apprentice and her companion. Maybe it was the look on Iaine's face, she did seem a great deal more sour than the last time. Something else stuck him, he had not been a sodden drunk when she looked at him in the tent. Maybe her eyes didn't work when she was imbibing.

He looked around the village, marking any way he might escape if there was trouble. Not that he'd get far, these people probably knew the territory better than he did. He should have thought of that last night. Mozenrath was being led to another of those huts, this one decked with archaic symbols that spoke to something in him. This tent was protected somehow, he knew it, there was a strange vibration in his bones that set off a chime like ring in his ear. Would he even be able to enter? Iaine came to the doorway and knelt forward, placing two fingers to her lips and then to the doorframe.

The ringing in his ears stopped short suddenly and he was ushered in. As soon as they had entered, Iaine repeated the gesture and the vibration snapped back against him. It took a moment for them to go from the bright noon light to the darkness of the hut. Mozenrath was surprised to see that rather than be cluttered with a mass of property like the others he'd been in, this one was large and relatively simple. Most of the people occupying it were either lounging on animal skins or sitting on stools and speaking with one another. There was a general air of apprehension as they noticed him, one by one stopping their conversations to look him over. He had somehow moved in the center of them all and felt paranoid to be gazed at in such a way.

He suddenly scowled, slipped one foot and leaned in an arrogant and haughty fashion, meeting each gaze in turn. There was a chuckle from somewhere in the room and Mozenrath noticed a matronly woman handing Iaine a root of some sort. She swallowed it down and in a few minuets looked much better. A cauldron was bubbling near the center and as tipped his head back to look inside.

"You can gaze if you wish."

The voice was so abrupt he didn't know where it came from. He looked around, but no one showed signs of having spoken. Mozenrath turned back to the bubbling pot, the scent of sage and jasmine wafting around him as he approached. If the spell around the hut caused a chime, this caused a giant brass bell to go off in his body. He reach out gingerly with his ungloved hand and a hiss arose from the cauldron.

"Not that way. Be strong, be confident."

Mozenrath was feeling heady, the smoke clouding his eyes as his senses slowly flooded with a familiar yet estranged sensation. He leaned forward, feeling as though he would fall into the cauldron and drown himself in the water. He saw a pool of blackness at the bottom, a mirror image of himself stared back up at him through the dark pot. "I don't understand…" he whispered.

"You will…" The voice was Iaine's soft and soothing. "Just look and let yourself go. And you will."

Mozenrath gripped the side of the cauldron, the heat from it blazing through one hand and took a deep breath. The smoke filled his lungs but he suddenly felt no need to breath. The world around him began to spin and the water in the cauldron hummed a clear, resonate note. Mozenrath blinked, and the world around him had changed.

_It was dusk, the fire in the sky blazing out across the landscape to color the world bellow. Under his feet was rich red earth, fertile and bursting with energy. A field of wheat, ripe and golden in the breeze surrounded him on all sides, sheep and their shepards enjoying the balmy day. Mozenrath breathed in and the sweet mellow scent filled his body with life. He looked down at his arms and found them replenished, whole, even a little muscular. He was different somehow, closer to something he had never felt close to before. There was a presence in his body he was unaccustomed to, but at ease with. Something prompted him to turn._

_A sight met his eyes that confused him. Amidst all this natural wealth lay a tree, cold and dead. It seemed surrounded by gray and black, old, decrepit and stale. Could trees be stale? He didn't know. _

_As Mozenrath approached the tree a slithering feeling went down his leg. A snake, bright green with kaleidoscopic eye crept forward, turning it's head to look at him. It…bowed…then continued onward, moving it's long agile body up the tree. _

_As soon as it wound it's self around the top most branch, the tree creaked and groaned, swaying to life as an old man rising from a comfortable seat. It shivered, and the branches wielded little bronze acorns. Then, as if this had taken all it's energy to do so, it slumped once again, and a single acorn fell to the ground. _

_Without thinking, Mozenrath moved forward to the tree, his hands reaching out to touch it. With sudden ferocity the snake struck, driving it's fangs deep into Mozenrath's flesh. He screamed in pain, pulling away as the venom ate away at his hand, returning it to horrid bleached bone._

"_Why?"_

_He begged the answer from the serpents mouth._

"_Why!" _

_Mozenrath hollered in rage!_

_The snake merely looked at him, gauging his reaction, and turned away._

Mozenrath came back to the physical world with a shock, landing on his backside in the dirt and animal skins. The druids stood around him, some with smiles of expectation on their lips, others with a sour grimace. "What…what happened?" he started as Tristan helped him to his feet slowly. A glass of warm ale was shoved into his hands and he drank it down, the reality of this world settling back into him.

"You saw." Iaine said softly, she among those smiling. "He has the sight Tristan, there is no denying it now."

Tristan nodded. 'No there certainly isn't." he reached out and too Mozenrath's hand, clasping it firmly within his own. "Welcome to the world of Druidry my friend."

"Say…what?" Mozenrath choked on his drink.


	10. Chapter Nine

Iaine left shortly after wards. It was not necessary for her to stick around after it became apparent that Mozenrath did indeed after druidic potential. She took a deep breath, feeling grateful that Cigfa had thought to bring some ginger root to help with her head ache. The old druidess knew more remedies and herbal fix ups than she could ever hope to. Iaine knew what would be done with the sorcerer, she of course as an apprentice would not be allowed to attend, only chief druids would initiate a new candidate. She secretly wished the desert man good luck.

The tent flap opened behind her and a hand closed on her shoulder. "Hello Essus." She said congenially.

"Why were you smiling at the man?" The druid asked, his thick blond eyebrows arching.

"Why is it your business Essus?" Iaine shrugged his hand off and began to walk away.

Essus caught up with her and pulled her around the side of a kiln, pushing her up against the baked clay. "Don't you forget who his was, is Iaine. Think of the stories of the dark necromancer in a land of death. The tales of that sorcerer even reached our island. Doesn't that tell you anything?"

Iaine glared at him and Essus broke his hold. Her anger was as stunning as her joy, and her eyes reflected them both. "I'll smile at who I like Essus. And I choose to smile at you no longer." She snapped away, her braid lashing in his face. "You may have initiated me into my apprenticeship Essus, but you do not determine how I will choose to act any more than you can say what bread I will eat or where I will sleep." _And with whom._ She thought privately. Essus was like a dog with a bone, unable to let go of whatever he thought his. And Iaine disliked being his bone.

She was a free woman of the Celtic people, no man dared tell her what to do save her father and Tristan. Even if Essus became chief druid of the grove, there were other groups she could join to avoid his mastery over her.

He had been this was ever since the Beltane fires five years ago. They had lain together in powerful magical rites, consummating a symbolic divine union. The act was strictly druidic, no relationship or emotions needed to become involved and she had steeled herself for that. But when Essus had lain against her, she had caved into his expertise.

It was her own fault. She knew that now. There was no denying that the man's experience was well know through out the village. And when he lay with her she had acted as a lost pup instead of a druidess. Following him around, waiting to be used again. He had been her first time, she was attached to that. Essus had ignored her for the most part, her being just at the end of puberty and honed in on more buxom and inviting women who had long since learned to express interest in a way that would attract and not appall.

She had been so angry the first time he had taken another woman after her that she promptly assaulted the first man to show interest. A trader from a neighboring village. She couldn't even remember his name. Iaine was ashamed of what she had done, acting like a bitch in heat. But she had learned a valuable lesson from the merchant. She could and did hold power in pleasure. Once she discovered this new ability within herself she broke her attention from Essus, suddenly being very picky about her lovers. Men in the village began to take interest in the sudden independent and coy lass, among them Essus. It was hard to be attracted to someone who threw themselves under your feet. But Iaine, a little older, a great deal more confidant and controlled, was indeed a beauty.

But when Essus approached her again, winding his charm about her so thickly she couldn't breath, Iaine suddenly realized how unattractive he was as a mate. Oh he was handsome enough, dark blond with serious, brooding blue eyes and straight teeth. His lips were firm and manly, his body was developed and hard. But his attitude set her off automatically. She was evasive at first, simply not caring if he was enticed or not. He became more insistent as he realized that this fine prize was slipping away. She told him straight off one night when he cornered her with a fine man who had treated her with respect.

There was no evidence to prove he had done so, but a few weeks later, when a band of strange looking 'merchants' came through to trade goods, she had awoke one morning to find herself bound by foot and wrist in the back of a cart. Kidnapped. These had to be foreign folk, no one from Erin would **dare** lay harmful hands on a druid! There was a life long curse of vicious satire and horrible agony laid on those who did. They must have been paid to do so, for the ware in the back of their cart were so shoddy it could not explain the wealth of gold they jingled in their pockets.

Also they lay not a hand of desire on her, mostly left her to her own designs. That made sense. Essus was known for his jealousy and would have wreaked terrible vengeance if they dared to violate her.

Essus must have been surprised when he appeared a few days later, leading a war party to 'rescue' the 'captured' kins woman. No doubt he expected her to fall gratefully into his arms and fall doe eyed in love again. Shock, he appeared at the robbers camp to find Iaine sitting calmly in the center, eating a roast pheasant with the band staring slack jawed into the fire as if the secret of life could be taken from it.

He had forgotten the power of her eyes.

Iaine stopped as she came down to the river, the cool breeze coming off the water calling to her. She needed a few minuets where no one could find her, she was the only one who could change in this village. So if she so chose, and she often did, no one but Tristan would be able to seek her out.

The river touched her feet as they crunched in the pebbles. She removed her clothing, uncaring of the world around her as it faded away. Iaine closed her eyes and remembered sensations, wind through her feathers, the crunch of bones in her claws and the taste of fresh meat in her jaw. She lifted her arms and jumped.

It was two days before anyone saw Iaine again. Essus made a big deal of her rejecting her duties when she returned but Tristan merely nodded and asked her if all had went well. Mozenrath had already undergone his initiation into the fold, an experience that left a part of him feeling…filled…in a way he was not used to yet. He was not however, to speak to anyone regarding this. The ceremonies of the druids were held deep in the forest for a good reason. There were always smaller, more simplistic rituals held for the villagers. Most of it was a great deal of show and fun, amusing from the perspective of those who knew better. But the kind of magic done in the more secretive groups were not something your day to day person could stand to be exposed to. It would be confusing and chaotic, and most likely make one think themselves mad.

But he was coming to terms with some of what he had seen, and his training had already begun. Each druid here seemed to have one specialty or another, and his day was filled up with going to each in turn. It was not as simple as sitting and listening, he was expected to be active on a constant bases. Sometimes he was only expected to stay still and concentrate, but a great many times now he had been lead into the woods to walk with Tristan.

Mozenrath had come to a halt the other day when he realized his mentor was gone from beside him. He turned frantically, not having paid any attention at all to what Tristan had been saying. They had become so entangled in the surrounding forest that Mozenrath could barely see the sun above. He had looked around stupidly for a moment before running straight into the old druid who frowned down at him.

The staff he carried landed hard against Mozenrath's backside, sending him arse over teakettle across the ground. Mozenrath spun around, eyes blazing as he raised his skeletal hand as if the fire on the man.

Tristan merely looked at him, sigh, and smacked his across the back of his knuckles. Mozenrath cursed angrily but did not act as if to attack again. Tristan shook his head, still not speaking and helped Mozenrath to his feet. "Come on now, and this time pay attention."

Mozenrath was getting very tired of being smacked about like a disobedient child. Most of his teachers were of the same mind as Tristan and had no shyness about backhanding him for being a smart ass. Even Cigfa, the old woman who didn't look like she could squeeze the water from a rag had given him a cuff when he ignored her instructions regarding the grinding of poppy seeds.

He groaned as he saw Iaine waiting for him by the river again. He was not in the mood to deal with that uppity woman right now. He knew she was one of his instructors, but Mozenrath tried to blend in with the forest before she could catch sight of him. Too late, Iaine's eyes spotted him quick as a hawks and she smiled in that infuriating way she had.

"Well…" she said and placed a hand against her pretty chest in mock surprise "Don't you clean up handsome." She locked her eyes on him and Mozenrath felt a twitch at the corner of his mouth. It was true, he looked by far better than when he'd first arrived. He only ached a little from his injuries now, most of them having healed. Now that they knew he was going to be staying for a while, he'd been given three or fours outfits fitting to his station as a druid candidate. He looked good in the off white trimmed with dark yellow and Celtic patterns. He even had a few bronze bracelets around his wrists that greatly improved the look of his bone hand.

Mozenrath nodded and turned his face away from her. He simply could not trust himself not to act stupid when Iaine stared at him. She laughed and he felt an angry blush creep across his cheeks.

"I'm not using it right now. I promise." She touched his shoulder and Mozenrath relaxed a little bit. "So what shall we do today? Another lesson in running?" At first Mozenrath thought she was joking, but with a shot Iaine took off, her strong legs moving at a lightning pace. Mozenrath stood there for a moment feeling very stupid, then took off, determined not to let her feel superior.

Iaine was a little surprised when Mozenrath footsteps feel in behind hers. She took a soft, careful breath, making a great show of it just as he was catching up with her and put on an extra burst of speed. Just as she thought, Mozenrath tried to copy her and choked himself, falling behind. Iaine sighed and slowed her pace, turning around to watch him slow. "You're a poor runner. I thought for sure last time was just a fluke."

Mozenrath gave her a glare so deadly she almost reeled from it. But Iaine sat down beside him and cross her legs, closing her eyes. "You need to learn to breath right." She said softly and took a deep breath, expanding her chest and cooling the heat inside from the sprint. "Sit beside me." She said softly.

Surprisingly, Mozenrath obeyed. She began showing him how to move his lungs properly, and as he started to calm himself, Iaine allowed herself enough room to think.

These exercises, all this training and teaching. If he'd had his gauntlet, it wouldn't be necessary. Which was precisely why they had put the damn thing well out of harms way. This was druid magic, not sloppy necromantic power. It was like comparing a tapestry in the King's Hall to a child's dirt drawings. Iaine knew that when compared to the mass of energy inside the gauntlet, Mozenrath own powers amounted to little.

What was it one of her lover had said. "It's not the size, it's how you use it."

As she remembered, he proved his statement quite well.

Mozenrath noticed Iaine smile wistfully and decided not to ask. From what he noticed, these Celtic women had very little in the way of morals. (Not that he had anything in memory to compare it to.) It felt pretty much like a woman belonged to her father until she began to seek out a husband. And until she found a man to her liking… well that part varied from women to woman. Some seemed to share themselves like a roast oxen at a victory feast. Others seemed completely asexual, oblivious to the bodies joys.

Iaine herself seemed to be somewhere in the middle. He knew from watching Essus reactions that at least one lover had graced her bed. And she flirted freely, though she didn't seem to have that goal in mind. He couldn't quite bring himself to ask, never mind the bawdy talk that went for humor around here.

"Very good." Iaine said quietly and Mozenrath noticed that they had begun breathing in rhythm. "Now…do me a favor…" Very very slowly, Iaine raised her arm and pointed to a little poppy flower only a yard or two away. "Watch."

Mozenrath tilted his head, trying to see what she was staring so intently at. It took him a moment, and he felt a soft creeping of energy come over him. Suddenly he realized what he was looking at. A small dark woman, maybe the size of his index finger was dancing around the petals in some kind of drugged elation. He noticed the light hit her back, and wings illuminate before him. "Oh…!" he said in shock and the little creature looked at him, startled.

Iaine laughed and the thing looked at her. She breathed in and extended her fingers, a thin trail of white smoke coming from her finger tips. The little woman touched it gingerly and nodded, bowing back down to the poppy to continue her euphoria. Mozenrath looked from the little being and back to the woman sitting beside him.

Iaine, apparently, didn't feel it necessary to explain what she had done, just put a comforting hand on Mozenrath shoulder. "She's a fay. A little one."

"What is a fey?" Mozenrath asked, eyes glues to the dancing figure.

"This one in particular is a poppy spirit. If you pluck the flower, she will live on, after all we sometimes use the power produced from this plant to make sedatives. One fay might control and entire field of flowers, or just one or two." She gestured and the field they sat in was suddenly lit by the wings of a hundred little creatures, peeking about to see who has signaled. "Sometimes, if you leave milk or honey, they will help you in small ways. Like finding things you thought lost or helping you find shelter in a storm."

"Something about this seems very familiar…" Mozenrath muttered. Little winged people in drove, little glowing balls of light…

Iaine suddenly looked terrified and made a slashing movement. The fays took flight, disappearing into the harsh glare of the sun. Mozenrath turned to ask her why she'd scared them off, but Iaine was already standing and heading back towards the brook.


	11. Chapter Ten

Deprived of thought, my mind is numb.  
At last this final day has come.

Essus was tapping his foot impatiently as Iaine headed up the path, Mozenrath standing beside her. She seemed to be pointedly not looking at him. He growled inside and had to force himself not attack the sorcer…fellow druid right there. He Iaine headed off the minuet she realized Essus was Mozenrath's next tutor, leaving the two hounds to challenge one another.

Mozenrath gave the darkest possible scowl to Essus as the man approached him. "So what are you to teach me?" He realized, once Essus stood right in front of him, that he was a head taller than the man. He wanted so desperately to smirk all of the sudden.

"The meaning of a hard days work." Essus said with absolutely no expression. He didn't, to his credit, seem at all bothered by the height of the pale man. "Do you know what I did before I was marked a druid? I shoveled horse shit from the stables." He lead Mozenrath around to a set of ten stalls, each one with a proud gelding or mare in them. "Since your lesson with Iaine ran long…" he seemed to snarl at the words. "You can just make sure you have these finished before you sleep tonight." He tossed a shovel Mozenrath's direction and pushed him towards the rank order of the stables.

Mozenrath nearly emptied his stomach as he approached the horse pens. He backed away, eyes watering as he coughed. _Oh gods!_ He snapped his jaw shut. The odor was so bad he could taste it on his tongue. He didn't bother to see if anyone was watching before he threw down the shovel and balked at the whole thing. Oh he'd have to finish the job soon enough, but right now he'd be damned if he was going to let another human being tell him what to do.

A snort caught his attention and he looked up to see a chestnut gelding staring at him with huge black eyes. "What are you staring at." He sniffed and the horse chuffed back at him. What was wrong with the beast? He walked closer and saw that the stable was filled with muck, as if it hadn't been tended to in a week. That did not seem right. These people were adamant about cleanliness, they washed before every meal, even if their bellies rumbled. They kept their homes clean, if cluttered. It didn't hold that they would allow the pen to get so rank.

Mozenrath sighed and picked the shovel back up. "Well, at least you won't cop and attitude." He muttered at the gelding as it snorted back at him.

Essus chuckled to himself at his own cleverness. He was, technically, killing two birds with one stone. Tristan had ordered him to teach the sorcerer humility, as well as pride. If done correctly, the job he had set Mozenrath doing could accomplish both. He doubted the stubborn, arrogant man would get that on the first try. It would probably take a while for the lesson to set in. But Essus didn't mind. He could watch Mozenrath muck out nasty stables all day long.

He knew, and admitted his knowledge of why he disliked the man. There was so much arrogance there. This self confident, outright uppity attitude that transcended his amnesia. Essus knew the man was a danger, he knew what the necromancer had tried to steal from the mountain top. **If I were chief druid, he would be bones at the base of the hill.** He confided in himself. Mozenrath was a foreigner, a thief, and a disruptor of the very energies that flowed through their community.

No, it was safe to say that Essus did not like Mozenrath one bit. And the final thing that irked him, was it seemed Iaine did.

It was dusk by the time Mozenrath had finished cleaning out the manure from the pens. He took a moment, his chest heavily and washed his hands in a bucket of water someone had left for him earlier. He had taken off the band tying his hair and covered his mouth and nose to avoid breathing in too much and passing out. He looked back with a certain amount of satisfaction. The horses pens were down to smooth black earth and the smell had wafted away once the sun had started to set.

Work is a strange thing. He had started off doing this, not because Essus had ordered him to, but out of a sense of pity that a beauty of a beast like this should walk around in waste product. Now he felt his job wasn't quite finished. He set his shovel down and returned a moment later with a bale of fresh hay. He began methodically laying down the soft straw in the pens, laughing to himself as an inquisitive mare nudged him. He reached out and stroked the soft muzzle, grinning when the animal pushed her nose into it.

A soft laugh reached his ears and Mozenrath turned around, surprised to see the wench who had held him only last week watching his movements. "Oh…hello." He said and continued what he was doing. He suddenly remembered that he had taken off his tunic when the sun grew too hot. Mozenrath felt her eyes on his body. "This…is probably going to sound very rude…all things considering…but what was your name again?"

"Savern. And your not being rude. I didn't exactly get time to introduce myself last time." She strutted forward, fanning out her dark brown hair and batting her pretty eyelashes. She didn't come directly to him, but began to pet the horse he was feed grass to. "Fine animals…" she whispered and rubbed her round cheek to it's jaw. "They say you can tell a man's nature by how he treats his animals."

"Their not mine…" Mozenrath began but realized that Savern must already know that.

"Ah, yet you take such good care of them anyways. This speaks even more in your favor Mozenrath." She chuckled and Mozenrath noticed the way her breasts heaved when she spoke. It was…if he had dared be honest with himself…a little over the top. But damned if he wasn't flattered by the attention! Savern took a bridle from a hook in the door way and hitched it over the horses head. "Have you ever ridden?"

"I…" Mozenrath suddenly remembered. "I have absolutely no idea." He admitted sheepishly. Savern didn't seem to mind though.

"Ah, so it's true you have no memory." She took another bridle and gave it to him. "Take the white mare on the end. She belongs to my younger cousin so if you're a little inexperienced she'll know how to behave." Savern have him a sultry look. "The same doesn't necessarily go for me." She flung herself up on the animals back, all without a skirt out of place or more than a calf shown. "Come on then Mozenrath. A night ride is just the thing after a long day."

Mozenrath followed her example fitting the bridle on the horse and to his own surprise managed to get himself up on the mare with no trouble at all. "Where are we off to?" He asked, following the buxom maids lead.

Savern slowed enough for him to catch up. "I know of a pool down in the next valley, wonderful for night time bathing."

"Aren't you afraid of going off from the village alone?" Mozenrath said. "After all, a young maiden like you might be a rich prize should anyone decide he wants a woman."

"What do I have to fear, I'm with a druid." Savern flashed a cheeky grin back at him. "Besides, any man who wants to lay with me unwilling will find himself missing a few important things come morning. She flashed a thigh and Mozenrath saw a sharp knife strapped there.

Now why did that only excite him more?

About thirty minuets later they arrived at her spot, and Mozenrath had to admit it lovely. The pool was clear blue green, with water lilies floating on the top and a great weeping willow tree crying into the pond. Fireflies dipped close to the water, winking off and on at the duo. Savern dismounted and tied her steed to a tree. Before Mozenrath could get his first leg off she had already thrown her dress off and made her way behind the ferns. The sound of water lapping at the shore caught his ears and Mozenrath came closer, barely containing his laughter.

Mozenrath removed his clothing and folded it neatly by the bush, stepping into the pond. To his surprise the water was pleasantly warm, better yet it felt wonderful to wash some of the muck off himself. Savern hummed pleasantly and took a piece of soap from her dress. "Here, let me wash you." She lathered the soap and began to truly clean Mozenrath's body off.

"Be honest Savern." He turned around, pressing her body to his. "You didn't bring me here for a good bath?" He kissed her cheek carefully, trying to be sure of his interpretation. There was still so much he didn't know, these people were as complicated as their art work.

"Well that depends." Savern chuckled. "If you don't get a good bath, I will have wasted a perfectly good night." She grabbed his shoulders and pushed him under the water, running off to the other side of the pool before he could rise.

Mozenrath came up soaking wet and laughing. Savern's eyes were illuminated by the star alone, shining brightly with the dark of the moon in effect. Her dark hair fanned out all around her face and she pulled the locks back, showing off her facial features. Mozenrath growled playfully and ducked under the surface. Savern giggled, looking around for his form. These were the kind of games meant to be played during a tryst. Sex was wonderful, but leading up to it could be just as fun.


	12. Chapter Eleven

Tristan smiled when Mozenrath appeared again at dawn, misty eyed and looked quite a deal more chipper than he had in a good long while. "Well is someone ready for another stroll, or are your legs tired from all your…work…last night?" Mozenrath didn't even feel ashamed, just changed his clothing and shoes and met Tristan at the door. He had been sharing the hut with the chief druid for a little while now, and pretty much knew his way around it. A part of him wished very much for his own place, a little solitude, especially now. Too bad he didn't have enough time on his hands to learn how to build one. Tristan tossed him a walking staff made from yew and they were off.

Mozenrath couldn't be sure, but the sun seemed perfectly bright today, just enough to warm your back, not enough to leave a burn. The breeze was balmy and comfortable, even the song birds, a sound he usually found irritating this early in the morning seemed set up just to compliment his mood. Hell he was practically giddy!

Tristan kept his peace, remembering when he was young and all that entailed. No one could begrudge a man the right to a little happiness now and then. Still, he needed to keep Mozenrath's attention focused. He started to fade, disappearing into the dense structure of the oaks. He waited patiently for a moment, seeing if Mozenrath would even realize he was gone. It took him a moment to see that the pale druid was no longer in sight. Tristan hummed and readied his staff to smack Mozenrath's skull again. He stepped out from the fabric of the oak, leaving a little kiss on the wood in thanks for hiding him and humped at the insolence of his charge.

An acorn smacked Tristan cleanly in the back of the head. The chief druid turned and found himself ready to laugh when he saw Mozenrath above him, holding onto the lower branches of the tree. He nodded in acknowledgement of Mozenrath's accomplishment. "Very good, your learning." He said and continued his walk. He led Mozenrath down a steep slop. It must have amazed the youth that someone as old as him could climb down such a treacherous path with ease. Mozenrath himself was having to work not to slide to the bottom. When he finally did make it down, Tristan was waiting patiently at the bottom with a lunch of bread, goat cheese, mead, and a little dried deer meat. "We will stop here for now." He said. "It's time we had a talk, between men Mozenrath."

The partook of the meal, enjoying it and talking of little things. Finally, Tristan looked Mozenrath over and leaned back. "Why?" he asked simply. Mozenrath frowned with a piece of bread in his mouth. Why what? "Why, when we told you of your potential as a druid, did you seize it? What made you decide so quickly?"

Mozenrath opened his mouth to speak, and stopped himself. Tristan was not looking for a quick answer, he was seeking a real, honest reason. Something Mozenrath wasn't entirely sure he could give him. "To be truthful…I don't know." He said. "I was…unsure. I am in a new place, with people who seem to like me, but do not want to come too close." He lifted his hand. "In part I think because of this."

"In a way, that is true." Tristan admitted. "But Savern does not seem to mind now does she?"

Mozenrath sipped down some ale. "You have your fingers in every pie don't you old druid?"

The old druid laughed in good nature. "I suppose I do. But really, nether of you attempted any kind of secrecy. I expect she won't be your only partner after a while." He noted how Mozenrath's chest puffed in happiness. "But you haven't answered my question Mozenrath." Tristan added.

"At first…I was thinking about that man, the one sacrificed at Beltane. I was afraid if I didn't become one of your kind, I might be the next one wearing the horns." He admitted and Tristan nodded. "But now. I'm still a stranger here, I can't remember anything but my own name. What am I **supposed** to do? Spend the rest of my life wandering around in a stupor asking "Do you know me?" to every one who stops by? Things feel familiar to my skin when I least expect it, and I get déjà vu so often it's become annoying." Mozenrath took a long look at his hand. "And this…where did this even come from? Do I want to know?" He was becoming frustrated now, and Tristan could feel strong emotions building up behind what was often a stone wall of a face. "Hell this…" he gestured to the bands of candidacy on his arms. "Is the only kind of direction I have in my life!" Mozenrath hung his head. "It's better than nothing by a long shot."

Tristan wondered if he should bring something up that had been bothering him the last few weeks. He put a brotherly hand on Mozenrath's head. "Tell me about your dreams." He said in a tone that provoked confidence. In reality, the touch was connecting a very subtle amount of magic between himself and the desert man. He was pushing the ethical boundaries a bit, but in this case he felt it justified. His own intuition told him that there were deep, hidden hurts here, things that could potentially rupture the sensitive fabric of his memory. He could, if he so chose, bring those memories to the surface full, repair them, and help in the healing process. But in that decision stood a terrible risk. He could not simply pick and choose between memories. If he touched on that part of the mind, all of them would come flooding back, Mozenrath of the Black Sands would come flooding back. On the other side, Tristan could seek out and destroy these memories, obliterating the tyrant and necromancer that was. But once again, he could not be selective. His disruption would cause ALL of Mozenrath to burn away, even the slowly emerging personality to which he was becoming accustomed and…dare he say it…like.

Or, he could let things stand, and be a friend when the truth came around, as truth often does.

Mozenrath closed his eyes. "I've been having these dreams. I am well, happy even, and suddenly a dark shadow looms over me. It's a man, taller than me, which makes me think I am younger than him. He looked, unpleasant, and when he grab my shoulder I have a strong sense of invasion, like he's forcing his way into me somehow." Mozenrath felt the pit in his stomach growl. This was something…private?...inside of him. Something maybe from his past, something he got the feeling he'd never told anyone else. He had little doubt the druid was using magic on him right now. Funny, he didn't mind as much as he'd have thought.

Tristan searched his own memory for what he knew about Mozenrath. Most of it was scattered tales from traders here and there. Erie was well known for it's incomparable blades, spices, wool, and herbs and they got their fair share of merchants from Greece, Rome, the occasional boat from Egypt, and yes, the Persian sands. The Celts were suckers for a good tale around the fire, and stories of the evil necromancer of the Citadel were something of an epic. But it had been a while since a bard had traveled round here, and their own bard Ruadh had passed away last summer. His replacement was still learning the old stories.

Come to think of it he did recall something about the former owner of the Citadel. He knew Mozenrath had defeated his mentor and turned him into some kind of disturbing dead man walk. The display of vengeance show something about Mozenrath's mentality at the time. He could have simply killed the man and been done with it, but no. He trapped him, if only to show that he could. He made him into a servant, displaying dominance over one who had dominated him, a trophy to show his own power.

Keeping a trophy was something he could relate to. The warriors of the clan often brought home the heads of their enemies, though usually reserved for only the strongest and most powerful of their nemesis. It was a symbol of prestige. But with Mozenrath had his former master, Tristan sensed something more malicious. Still…what to say?

"I would say chances are equal. This could be a part of your past, or it could be just a dream." There, stay in the middle until your sure of your stance. Tristan looked and saw that this was not enough for the young Mozenrath. He was seeking definite guidance from someone older. That was the problem with the young, they **always** thought someone older **must** know everything. "Mozenrath, do you feel overpowered a great deal? Like you have no privacy or space of your own?"

Damn he hated it when Tristan saw inside him like that. But then he had talked to the man in confidence. Mozenrath gave a sidelong glance that said everything and Tristan chuckled.

"Well, your no child." He said smoothly. "You've been pent up inside an old mans hut for nearly two months now, perhaps it's time we looked into building a place of your own." Mozenrath looked up at him with surprise. "A little independence can do wonders for a man's spirit. And lets face it, sometimes you just need a bloody moment to think." He gave a knowing smile. "Not to mentioned a little place to take a willing woman to. That pool gets awfully cold once fall rolls around."


	13. A few Brief Questions

A Few Questions

For future chapters, I would dearly like to know the opinions of my readers. Please, if you would just take a very brief moment to review and fill these out, it would be of great assistance to me.

Lynn Osburn

What is your favorite chapter so far?

What is your favorite scene so far? (2-3 paragraphs)

Who is your favorite Druid?

What do you feel is the relationship between Mozenrath and Iaine?

Do you feel any potential for romance there?

What do you think of Savern?

What do you think of Essus?

What do you think of Tristan?

Do you think Mozenrath will ever get his memory back?

How?


	14. Chapter Twelve

Iaine sat there sharing a bottle of mead with Savern as the dark haired woman related her latest escapade with Mozenrath. She chuckled as Savern sighed and made a show of fainting on the table from exhaustion. "You are thoroughly besotted with this man." She said and Savern shrugged.

"Not besotted…just enjoying a little new blood around here." She admitted. "I'll have to marry sooner or later…may as well enjoy my freedom until then."

"So your fathers onto you again is he?" Iaine sighed, that man had been trying to wed his daughter to every eligible man of status since she started her moon blood. "You know you aught to remind him you're a free woman. There's nothing he can do to force your hand until you choose to give it. You're a good woman Savern."

"That means a bit coming from you." She admitted. Secretly, Savern had always envied Iaine's position. She could pretty much do as she pleased when she pleased, and access to such secrets as those of the druid path must have. To have that kind of power over earth and sky seemed god like to her. Sometimes she felt so simple in comparison. She was just the daughter of a warrior, a once famed warrior who was faltering in old age instead of dying in battle like a grand hero. One day soon, she would have to offer her hand to someone suitable and produce the next generation.

Druids, as a general rule, didn't wed. The considered their human relationships secondary to that between them and nature. Most women and men weren't willing to put up with being second in any kind of binding and sooner or later got fed up with the situation. It wasn't that they were selfish as friends or lovers, but there just wasn't that closeness that one could see between truly blissful couples. Their dedication to the earth and their people would always be first, no helping that.

Tristan had married once, long ago. But that was to a fellow druid who could understand and followed the same principals. She had given herself to the gods when famine struck what seemed to be all Erin. Her devotion was praised even amongst enemies. Somehow, Tristan had never looked at another woman the same. Cigfa had been wedded in her youth, but when her husband died she underwent such grief it was said she passed into the Otherworld. When she came back from under her coma she had somehow turned seer and was pulled into the druid company. She had taken a lover or two since then, but mostly to quiet her grief when loneliness tugged.

A woman's heart is hard to kill.

"What?" Savern jerked up suddenly, realizing that Iaine had been talking to her directly.

Iaine rolled her eyes. "I said, why don't you just have a child from someone from the merchant bands? It wouldn't be the first time a trader passed through and left a round belly behind. You wouldn't have to wed him, and even if you did he'd been gone during the summer time. You wouldn't have to put up with him for half of the year." She pointed out the aspects Savern would be most attuned too. Celtic women were well know for their independence and she knew part of what her friend feared was a man's dominance over her when vows were taken.

Savern smiled suddenly. "Nah. I think I'll wait for a man exactly to my liking."

"Perfection is hard to come by Savern." Iaine warned just as Mozenrath and Tristan were coming back from their hike.

"He needn't be perfect…" Savern said dreamily, looking her lover up and down invitingly. "A good man will do just as well."

Something in Iaine's chest tugged when she heard those words and their hidden meaning, but she said nothing, just smiled pleasantly at Tristan and Mozenrath. "So how did your lesson go?" she asked, intentionally locking eyes with Mozenrath.

There was a moment, a split second where he felt his head swim and his balance fall forward. But he caught himself in time and frowned at Iaine. She looked down in what he presumed was embarrassment and apology. "We decided it's time for me to have my own place." He said slowly and Savern rose from her chair with a squeal to hug him tightly

"Oh there is so much to do!" She said as soon as she'd calmed down. "Of course you men folk will take care of all the building and such, but there's more to a house than sticks and stones and mud." She flipped her hand outwards when Mozenrath began to speak. "Hush now man!" she said playfully. "Leave it to the women folk to make a home for you. You're a druid, you can't go sleeping on the ground!"

**I can lay upon you on the ground, but I can't take a good nights sleep on it?** Mozenrath thought privately but kept his mouth shut. He had learned quickly that Savern was the type of lass who delighted in managing and organizing those who lacked the ability. "But what are you going to decorate with? I've no property of my own. I've been sponging off Tristan for the past two months."

Savern gave a secretive grin. "Leave that to me." She took Iaine's hand and rushed off in the direction of her father's house.

"Hell no!" Fergus snorted, throwing an animal skin over his shoulder and into a trunk as he raged at his only daughter. "I'm ta give my hard worked possessions to this whelp your bedding down with?"

"It's not as if I'm asking for much!" Savern protested, jerking her head to Iaine for support. The female druidess tilted her head in an amused fashion. In other words she wasn't going to interfere yet. "Just a few of the things we don't use much. Like this." She lifted up a fine bear skin pelt, tanned with such skill it was as soft as down.

"Don't think I don't see past yer games Savern! You think your self witty enough to fool your old man! BAH!" He snatched the skin away from her and threw it too in the trunk. "You know damn well everything here…" he gestured to a few trunks. 'Is for your _coibach_. How'm I ever going to get a man to take a troublesome wench like you if I can't provide a good enough dowry?"

Savern snorted, her eyes blazing angrily. "Back on that track again?" she groaned at the old argument. "It's no wonder I'm not jumping at Beltane. Who would wed me with a father-in-law like you?"

Fergus looked as if he was going to smack her cheek but remembered Iaine's presence there. The druidess was staring at him strictly with those bewitching eyes of hers. He lowered his fist and simply took Savern's chin. He remembered fondly for a moment, how much she looked like her mother. He changed tactics for a moment, remembering how he used to get his way with her. "Savern…my little lily. You know I'm only looking our for your best interests." He stroked her hair. "What would your mother, gods rest her sweet soul, think of me if I failed in my duties as a father?"

Savern mumbled something and felt a little guilty. She pressed forward however, determined. If there was one thing that could be said for this duo, they shared a stubborn streak a mile wide. "I suppose..." She began to comment but a gesture from Iaine caught her eyes. She was gesturing to her wrist, the place where a wedding garland would be bound. Savern could have kissed her. "I suppose your right. I just don't know how we're going to live in such a poor place."

Fergus's eyebrows rose. "We?" he said and rubbed his great red beard. "Has this druid designs on you as a wife then?"

"Perhaps…he is asking me to help make his house a home…" Well, technically that wasn't true. But it wasn't a lie either. More like Mozenrath was **allowing** her to deck out his place.

This seemed to be enough for old Fergus, he couldn't throw enough things at her, though he did hold back on touching her allotted dowry. "Your elder brothers Heinin and Cano are going with the cattle traders to the city next month and they plan to seek a bride." He smirked at Savern's disappointment. "I've not a mind to show this man your worth until I'm sure he's seeking a family. So until then I'll just let your brothers use this to gain a good woman."

Iaine took Savern by the belt before she could ruin what luck they'd had thus far. "It's time we got going Fergus, still much more to do." Savern stuck out her tongue as her father's back turned and shuffled the pile in her arms.

"It's a start." She said as they inspected what they'd managed so far. Fergus had been generous enough, some good goat, deer, and small animal pelts to cover the floor. A mortar and pedestal, several wooden bowls, a few bronze and low quality silver drinking cups, some flint stones, a nice bow and arrows for hunting, a hearth board, and a loom. Savern flinched at the loom. It was a definite sign that Fergus expected a proposal in the works. The loom was strictly a woman's tool, used by the wife and daughters to spin thread for clothing for their family. Iaine had called in a few favors from the smith in order to get him a sturdy cauldron, a pretty knife from high quality bronze and star rock, a chisel and hammer. Cigfa had supplied a nice little array of herbs and medicinal stock, just common things you would use in everyday life. Savern smiled. "Yes it's defiantly a start."

Iaine agreed. Mozenrath hadn't yet build a standing in the community, and as a bachelor nobody would be expecting him to have a neat, orderly, and rich household. All in all, this was adequate for a single male. "Well, we'd better get a move on. Ossian wanted to teach Mozenrath to hunt for himself tomorrow, and he'll need our help if he's going to get any sleep tonight."

"That brings a question to mind." Savern said smoothly. "The things your teaching him, hunting, sewing, herbs, wildlife, lay of the land. None of this stuff seems like the kind of things that make a druid a Druid. Shouldn't he be learning how to praise Lugh and show respect to Morrigan? How to read a birds entrails to see when the next rain will fall and if McDougal's heifer will bare a strong calf?" She shifted the weight in her arms. "Iaine I knew how to sew a tunic when I was seven, and by the time I was eight mother had me helping to cook meals and watch the sheep with my brothers."

"You have to bare in mind, Mozenrath isn't from these shores. He may not have had to do things the way we do them. Besides, most of these are lessons in focus, dedication, and good hard labor. You'd be surprised how much a job well done can improve your whole outlook, not to mention your self esteem…"

"And your body." Savern said, eyes wide.

Iaine followed her eyes and her own soon enlarged. Mozenrath was there, along with Ossian and some of the stronger men in the village building his hut. The circle had been drawn in the dirt, the wall gully dug, and steaks for the wall planted. Some of the wives of the workers were weaving thick hazel wattle around the posts and bringing cool pitchers of water to the men. They were arriving just in time to watch as Mozenrath took hold of a rope and place the huge center post in it's hole. His muscles strained magnificently as he and the other men grunted and groaned over making the post stand and holding it as they tied down the ropes to keep it steady.

Iaine licked her lips unconsciously as Mozenrath took his work tunic off and wiped the sweat from his brow. She suddenly saw Savern walk up to him with a cup full of water and tip it playfully to his lips. The couple turned to look at her and without thinking she smiled back, forcing herself to ignore that uncomfortable pang in her chest.


	15. Chapter Thirteen

The fields were full of wheat just waiting to be harvested as the days were becoming quickly shorter. The farmers went out with their sickles and sons for a days work as the sun had just begun to rise over head. Women were gathering in the orchards to gather as much fruit as possible, for when Samhain rolled around, anything left in the fields or on the trees was considered profane and fit only for the gods lips. The bakery was running at full tilt, grinding the grain in preparation for bread making. Mabon was at hand, the celebration of the second harvest, and once again the Celtic people were preparing for a festival.

Mozenrath awoke, alone for the fifth time in a row. Completely oblivious to the beauty of the day. It was putting him in a sour mood, not that Savern had noticed. He had never, if he dared to be honest, expected the relationship to last as long as it had. But the affections shared between them had been dwindling of late. Savern had, for the first month of so, showed him exclusive affection, something that had fed his natural ego to no end. It hadn't bothered him too much (alright it had but he had no hold over her) when she had started taking others to her pool. After all, he was entitled to do the same if he chose. But he wasn't all that interested in other women right now. Oh he fancied a round backside much as the next man, but he was perversely fixated on wearing himself out with Savern, trying to pull her back to him through pure strength of will.

He rose to greet the sun, something now required of him on a daily basis. He went through the ritual, feeling a little better as the tremors of magic ran through his body again as they did each time the encompassing light of the sun fell against his face, casting the misty blue and gray shadows against his eyes. He allowed himself a small smile as the fresh scent of baking bread reach his nose and calmly spoke the praises of Lugh, the sun god.

As Mozenrath made his way down to the bakery, he noticed Iaine, sitting up in an oak tree and staring off into the skyline, her face placid and deep in thought. He usually did not make much in the way of conversation with his fellow druid, she had a tendency to tease him at every opportunity. And if no opportunity arouse, she would remind him of foolish mistakes he'd made in the past as if the very memory could force him to play the idiot for her amusement. But he wasn't thinking about that right now. He was thinking about how awe inspiring she looked, hair fanned out around her strong jawed face, lips opened just enough to taste the dew on the leaves, eyes closed as the wind rustled the branches of the might oak. Just as he opened his mouth to speak to her, a rancorous laughter erupted from a visiting bards tent. Iaine's eyes flew open and she turned to see who had interrupted her meditation.

Mozenrath growled, he knew that voice.

Sure enough, the two who emerged from the tent were none other than Savern and the bard, a handsome man seven years her senior called Owen. They were entangled in one another, hair in various states of dishevelment and clothing wrinkled.

Ossian had taught Mozenrath how to hunt, he might have regretted it if he knew the visions going through Mozenrath's mind right now. He intentionally turned away from the now happy couple and straight into Iaine's bosom. "Ah…sorry." He murmured, expecting a taunt.

Iaine was, however, looking at the bard and friend. "They had a good night I suppose." She said. "Tell me Mozenrath, what's on your mind?" she asked when she saw his expression.

"Oh…" he debated. "Ethics." He finally decided was the best way to put it.

Iaine nodded knowingly. "Yes I guess we all come to that question sooner or later. Don't tell Savern I said this, she's my friend since childhood. But it's not your fault. She goes through men like a tanner through hides." She pointed to the bakery. "Break fast with me Mozenrath?"

He shrugged, not having any lessons planned for today. Festivals were always like that, so much hustle and bustle, celebrations and ceremonies to prepare for. There just wasn't time to try and get a decent word in. To his surprise he found Iaine rather somber today, enough so that they actually enjoyed a light meal and some friendly conversation. "So what does Mabon celebrate?" he finally said, looking for another topic to discuss.

"It's the second of the harvest festivals where the fruit is ripened and ready for picking and drying. It also means you only have from now till Samhain to finish bringing in crops and slaughtering the old herds down for good meat during the winter. For Mabon, day and night are equal, so we druids hold a celebration of life and death as they were meant to be seen, equal, a continuing cycle for all eternity."

"We're not going to sacrifice anyone are we?" Mozenrath said gingerly. There had been another cattle raid (damn there seemed to be a lot of them) a week or so back and he was still a bit sick after his last experience with one.

Iaine laughed. "No more than we're going to birth a baby from the alter stone Mozenrath." To her surprise Mozenrath laughed back. "It also means…that the god of light is being defeated by the god of darkness. The days will grow so short they pass in a flash, and the night will seem to take forever to pass. The winds will blow and the nights grow colder and colder. Lugh will be struck to the ground by Goronwy, slain. " She smirked. "You picked a bad time to loose Savern's affections."

This was exactly the reason he didn't usually seek out Iaine's company. She was younger than him, maybe only by three or four years, but they way she could speak to him made it sound like every thing he did was a mistake. She criticized like an old matron. Before he could retort (another quality he disliked, she never gave him time to defend himself) Iaine set a hand on his. "Don't worry, she's not the only maid in the village, and now that everyone knows she's parted your hut, they'll be other women looking for warm sheets."

Mozenrath drank down his milk nonchalantly as Iaine inwardly cursed herself. Goddesses could she **be** any more obvious? Her friends imprint on his bed wasn't even gone and she was practically throwing herself into his arms. Iaine jerked her hand away from Mozenrath's and drained her glass in a single gulp. **Steady girl.** She warned herself to remember the stupidity of her youth.

As if the gods agreed, the very thing that would most drive the point home came walking towards them, wearing his full finery. "Ah, Ian…ie." Essus looked from her to Mozenrath, his mood darkening. "Oh, am I interrupting something?" he said from the back of his throat.

"Nothing important." Mozenrath said, not wanting to make today any worse. He stood up. "I was just leaving." He strode away, leaving Iaine to deal with it. He didn't hear the foot steps closing in behind him, so wrapped up in his own thoughts. He didn't realize he was being followed until he was face down in the wet grass and mud, a foot on his back.

"You think your clever don't you?" Essus said, pushing his foot into Mozenrath's rib cage. "I'll tell you something right now Mozenrath, and heed me. Stay away from Iaine, she's mine." He growled out the warning like a wild cat defending it's territory.

Mozenrath felt something inside him smolder and burst into flame. He spun over and grabbed Essus's foot, jerking in down with a combination of pull and a fist to the back of his knee. "Funny, I never got the impression she was all that interested in you." He started to stand, but was pulled back to the ground by arms far stronger and better developed than his. Mozenrath slammed his elbows backwards, aiming for the ribs and getting then with a thunk. The druid made a strange noise like the air was being knocked out of him.

But Essus didn't give in, he wrapped his legs around Mozenrath's midsection and pulled his arms under the pale man's arm puts, trapping his fists behind the black hair and pushing. Mozenrath gave a yelp of pain and heard laughter erupt from behind him. "Pathetic, you can't even hold back a yelp. You think Iaine would be interested in a pale, scrawny…" Essus almost screamed himself when sparks of magic flew from around Mozenrath's frame, leaving little burn marks along Essus's arms. "What in the world…?" He froze when he saw Mozenrath's eyes.

The black pupils had turned white, the dark center bleeding out into the rest of the eyeball. Mozenrath's lips were open, his teeth grit together as his hand clenched, the heat around his palms starting to build.

Someone spoke from off left and next thing he knew, Mozenrath had gone flying through the air, landing into a sopping mud puddle. Before he could turn and see, Essus went flying, landing right beside the man. Mozenrath seemed to come back from wherever he had been and they sat stock still for a moment, trying to figure out what had happened. A shadow landed over them and both druids received the hard side of a staff upside their heads. Once, twice, three times before they had a chance to speak. Heads bruised, they looked up at Tristan's face.

A look nether had ever seen was on the old druids face. He was breathing with extreme control through enlarged nostrils, his eyes sharp as a wolfs as he looked down at the two apprentices. Iaine was behind him, arms crossed as she huffed in disgust. "Never…" Tristan began. "…in my entire life have I ever seen two **druids** act with such disrespect for one another's cloth." His voice was worse than a yell, a yell would have felt right. But Tristan's voice was cool and even and overflowing with disappointment. "I can not begin to express the mistakes both of you have just made. Suffice it to say neither of you will be attending Mabon celebrations tonight. If I have to discipline you like a couple of boys barely pulled from their mothers breast then fine, but the next time I have to do so in front of the entire village your punishment will ring in the mountain's ears."

Both started to move, but Tristan wasn't done yet. "Since the two of you like wallowing in the mud like pigs, you can go right now…" he thrust two huge baskets at them. "…and collect mushrooms from the forest for Cigfa. Right now, and don't you dare return until both baskets are full to the brim." Both men took the baskets grudgingly. Gathering fungi was a chore for children, this was a real punishment. "Go on now!" he said, raising his voice for the first time as the two mud soaked enemies stood and headed off into the forest. As soon as they'd gone out of sight, he turned to Iaine. "And you…he pointed to the surprised woman. "Come with me."


	16. Chapter Fourteen

They returned around mid afternoon, baskets full and grimaces on their faces. They were covered in dried mud and sod, stank of the deep woods and pig shit. The latter came from Essus, he'd 'tripped' in a mushroom patch and landed where a sow had been rooting. Mozenrath had allowed himself a good internal laugh over that one. They met Iaine at the door who looked them over with a judgmental eye.

"Go give those to Cigfa and wash off. You'll have to hurry if you want to make it in time for celebrations." She said hurriedly, the talk with Tristan still in her mind.

"I thought we weren't going to attend." Essus said.

"You will not be allowed at the druidic ceremony no, but Tristan has decided not to begrudge you the local festivities." Iaine turned around to leave and was more than grateful that they did not follow her. She needed time to think and if she wanted no interruptions, she would have to change.

The falcon that soared over head went unnoticed save by those in the know. And they allowed her what she required. Iaine let the wind carry her across the woods and through the meadows. She kept a mindful eye out, looking for other raptors. True, she could always change back to human form, but any injuries she sustained while flying in another predators territory would remain.

The conversation with Tristan came back, half unbidden. As soon as Mozenrath and Essus had disappeared into the forest the chief druid and pulled her into his tent for a long talk. "You've got to stop stringing the two of them along like this Iaine."

"I don't know what you mean by this Tristan. I've never given either of them the slightest inclination to think…" He hesitated as to how to continue. "Tristan…I'm not interested in either of them as anything more than fellow druids."

Tristan looked at her with a careful eye. "Are you quite certain?" He asked. "I've seen that look in the eyes of young men before, strutting after the same hen, letting their claws fly when she looked indecisive." He sighed. "I was much the same at their age." He sighed and poured a cup of tea. "And to add to it, Essus hasn't given up on the thought of you as his and his alone."

"I know." She rolled her eyes. "It's my fault, following him around like I did until I got some common sense. Now he's bent on it." Iaine took the tea and drank some down.

"What you aught to do…is take a lover." Tristan suggested. "A pretty young thing like oughtn't be without a young man for too long any how." He poured some honey in his cup and made a small noise. "I couldn't help but notice you didn't take part at Beltane this year."

"I did. Remember, I gave our sacrifice his last night with a woman." It was a man's right, when he chose to go to the gods, to have one last night with a woman in his bed. A druidess was usually the one to oblige, and as Cigfa was nearing her fiftieth summer, Iaine had stepped up. He had been a nice enough fellow, crafty, a strong man of the warrior class. Not very experienced, but he did try to be considerate of her.

"And since then?" Tristan asked. "You were never one to spread yourself about easily."

"I haven't seen anyone to my liking for a great while now." Iaine admitted.

"Really now?" Tristan said softly, rolling the honey in the bottom of his mug.

"Really." Iaine insisted.

Iaine came back to the present, veering off to the left when she saw a twitch in the grass. It was a weasel, lean and hurrying about to eat all it could before the cold season. Iaine felt the personality of the falcon merge with her own. The predator did not see another animal, but prey, vulnerable and scampering. It's own instincts pulsed for the crunch of bone against talon and the sweet taste of blood running down it's maw. Iaine sighed, this was just a part of merging with such a creature. Their concerns were very specific, and if she gave in to them everyone once in a while, Iaine found it easier to maintain her own personality within the beast. She began to circle, curving her wings to the right angle, then with the quickness of a snake she struck, diving down from the clouds at an incredible height.

Nearer Iaine drew, her wings angling to where she became an arrow flying from an invisible bow. She gave a screech, the final call of a deadly assault. The poor thing looked up, just in time to watch it's vision be flooded by wings and death. With the precision of a true hunter she clamped down and snapped it's neck. At least she possessed the human intelligence to slaughter efficiently. Blood slipped down her throat and Iaine made a strangely human sound.

A noise went off behind her. She turned, wings spread and ready to take off. This time of year it could be anything, and most of them perfectly willing to kill a falcon for a meal. Tremors went off in the ground, a strange noise that made Iaine's blood quake. The sound of voices reached her ear, human voices. She took off, pumping her wings to get up high and see what was going on.

Dust clouds were forming in the distance, the sound of wheels and clanging of metal made her stomach churn as Iaine realized what was coming.

An army!

They looked to be Connacht men, rowdy and rough and ready to fight. The druidess gulped, they weren't more than a day by foot from the village, less than that if you counted the war chariots they brought. At their head was a man in full battle armor with a beard the color of the sunset. His eyes were focused straight forward, showing his determination. Iaine pulled herself up higher, fanning her wings out. Better if she could get a good look at these people before rushing back. The more they knew, the better they would be able to prepare. A shouting caught Iaine's attention and she caught sight of a set of white robes, green marked pointing up at her.

A druid! Impossible! Druids did not ride **on** the war campaign!

**Cac!** She swerved to the left just in time to avoid an arrow meant for her breast. Iaine tool and risk and dove straight for the tree line. What to do? If they saw her heading back to the village they would know for sure that she was not a natural bird. If she stuck around they would shoot her just to be sure. No doubt that tremor had been the druid, casting out a little magic to make sure the area was clear. Maybe she could distract them long enough to make her escape?

Then they would know who she was.

Chances were they did anyhow.

Iaine put her talons to a tree branch and listened carefully. Sure enough, scouts had been sent into the forest to search for her. She clicked her beak, concentrating her magic into the woods around her. The groan of the trees answered her back, questioning, wondering why they were being called. She sent out her distress. As a falcon, she could not communicate with the forest in words or spells. Her emotions however were much clear and defined. The trees themselves could not act, but they knew ones who would.

A sound caught her ear, but Iaine did not react quickly enough. A net flew from the ground, entangling around her body. She screeched in a falcon voice, sending panic and pain through the woods as she fell to the ground. A warrior stood above her, smirking as he picked his prize up.


	17. Chapter Fifteen

The hand of death wraps 'round my throat  
As devils cloaked in sorrow float

Mozenrath had never been in battle before. At least, not that he knew of. Tristan had made it clear to him though, that a Druid's place was not on the battlefield. So then why was he here? Ah yes Iaine. Every druid had felt it, even he, when she sent the strong emotion of distress through the ground. The sensation had been so intoxicating it had made his head reel! So for the sake of a fellow Druid, Tristan had sent Mozenrath and Ossian along with the troops.

"We protect one another Mozenrath. At all costs, through good times and bad, we protect our grove." Those had been the Chief Druids words. Mozenrath had nearly scoffed. Tristan had been wise to send Ossian along, Essus would have stabbed him in the back.

Druids of course, had little to fear on the battlefield. Their white robes marked them from a hundred yards away. No fool would dare harm a druid. But still, he was no shocked when Ossian reached out and handed him a bronze sword and scabbard.

"Just in case." He said. "If Iaine is out there, captured, we can't risk leaving her rescue to another." Ossian's face was dead serious. He still, even after all these months, had no strong liking of Mozenrath's presence. The gods had decreed it, through his vision, that Mozenrath was druid potential. He would accept the necromancers station, and teach him because it was his duty. But that did not mean Ossian must be on best buddy terms with him.

"What about our magic? Why can't we use our powers to bring Iaine back?" Mozenrath demanded to know.

"Stupid boy." Ossian looked about to cuff the pale man, but for some reason stayed his hand. "Listen…" he said in a softer tone. "…don't you think we've tried that already? Something must be holding her there, restraining her from coming back or contacting us directly. Tristan could sense her aura, but it was to dull to tell where she is or what state Iaine might be in."

"And if we don't know where she is, we can't bring her back." Mozenrath concluded. "Fine, but what about her eyes? Surely no one could withstand…"

"There are some. The abysmally stupid, the divinely blessed, a family member, a very powerful witch or wizard." Ossian named them off. "Take Tristan for instance. He has known her since she was a wee little one. He wouldn't allow the kind of feelings her gaze invokes. So he simply chooses not to be effected."

"And Essus?" Mozenrath could not keep all of the brashness out of his voice.

Ossian smiled broad as the sun. "He is beneath her notice." A cry suddenly sounded from up ahead and the druids turned to see what was happening. A boy, no older than thirteen ran up, holding something in his hand. He showed it to the village leader, who took it in his hand and cast a glance back at Ossian and Mozenrath. The frown could be seen even at their distance. The leader handed it back to the boy and pointed.

Mozenrath felt his heart jump into his chest when the child came running to them, sweating from exertion with his fists clenched tightly. He looked up at Mozenrath and bit his lip. "Luchtain said to give you this?" He reached up and held open his palms.

Inside was a bent and broken primary feather from a raptors wing.

Rage, inexplicable rage rose in Mozenrath's chest. Why? It wasn't as if he had any strong feelings for Iaine. She was a fellow druid, that had to be the explanation. He would surely feel the same if someone had kidnapped Tristan. But something tingled in his right hand, as if he longed to crush something between his fingers. He handed the feather to Ossian.

"This is not possible." The elder Druid said. "No fool would dare knowingly harm a …"

"Obviously they would." Mozenrath snarled. "They wanted this feather delivered to us and us specifically. So they must know Iaine is a Druid. What's more, they know we are with the war party." Mozenrath's eyes darkened, a familiar feeling was dawning on him. He **had** been in a battle before. "They will be ready for us."

"Which means we have to do something to throw them off balance." Ossian said gruffly, admiring Mozenrath's perception. "Tell the chief to go on ahead." He told the boy. "We've magic to work." The child nodded and ran off, leaving the two men behind.

"What exactly are we going to do?" Mozenrath asked as Ossian lead their horses to the tree line.

"You tell me?" He said quickly. "What do you think we should do?"

Mozenrath was shocked, he'd never gotten any strong feeling of trust from the older man. Still, he felt at peace with the situation, as if this were a puzzle he was meant to solve. "We need to give our troops the advantage." He murmured. "Even just a small one. How long do you think it will take for the two armies to meet."

"Not long I would wager. Iaine was in falcon form when she saw them, and she never goes more than two days flight from our village. It was yesterday when she saw them, and I got the feeling from her emoting that they were dangerously close." Ossian looked overhead. "I would say by noon today, the battle will have begun."

"That doesn't give us much time." Mozenrath thought carefully. "Humm. Can I attach a spell to the troops themselves, something they can take with them?"

"Like an enchanted weapon?"

"No. Too many weapons, not enough time. I was thinking something a little broader." Mozenrath pointed to the mountains in the next valley, still curling with morning mist.

"Aye." Ossian's voice pitched high in approval. "It'll take a great deal of energy though."

"Just make sure I don't kill myself in the process." Mozenrath said sharply and settled down to the grass, pushing his fingers against the thick, rich earth. Already he could feel the tremor of magic running through the world beneath him. It was waiting for him, as if anticipating his needs. Mozenrath steadied himself, sending out his own requests. Even if willing, it is always better to ask.

He tried to remember Iaine's lessons in breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Let yourself relax. He closed his eyes, reaching out with his undersenses as she had said. Ironic, if he managed to save Iaine, it would be due in part to her teachings. Reaching out like that was a strangely disorienting feeling. Part of Mozenrath remained latched firmly to his body, as if anchoring his soul where it should be. Another part wafted in the breeze, reaching out with light tendrils for what it sought.

Slowly, the hills and mountains whispered to one another, asking, questioning the Druid now deep in connection. Ossian watched as Mozenrath began to unintentionally sway back and forth, muttering under his breath. When his lips stopped, the voice of the land began. A whole conversation was taking place that only he and Mozenrath were aware of. The warriors ahead of them did not hear it, only tightened their cloaks at the sudden cold of the day. The reached for their fabric, surprised to find it wet with morning dew. If the leader noticed, he said nothing, only marched forward.

Mozenrath felt as if his insides were turning to ice. His skin prickled as his face felt cold. He began to shake, brow furrowed as if trying to keep warm. The whispering, subtle and soft, began to draw away, and when he fell, it was Ossian who caught him.

"Come on boy. No time to sleep." He said, smacking Mozenrath's cheek.

"Did it work?" Mozenrath asked, groaning when he opened his eyes.

"We will see soon enough." Ossian said and handed Mozenrath a flask of ale. "Drink a little and eat some bread. We don't have enough time for you to ground yourself again." He helped Mozenrath lift himself onto the horse as they charged after the warriors.

Mozenrath held his temple while simultaneously grasping the horses reigns. He had to keep himself on the beast, no matter how bad the thundering hooves made his head ache.


	18. Chapter Sixteen

Iaine screeched and twisted her knife around, cutting deep into the flesh of the man holding her arms. He spewed blood from his lips and fell back, eyes wide as he collapsed on the ground. She cursed at them, flung about taking slices in their skin with her. "How dare you!" she yelled. "I am of the Druids, how dare you lay harmful hands on me!" she slammed her elbows back in unison, connecting with the stomach of one of her captors. He doubled over in pain and fell to the ground.

Iaine opened her eyes wide, catching several of the warriors in her thrall. The green sparks in her eyes seemed to smolder and burn before them. "You will halt." She whispered in a voice barely discernable from the wind itself. The men stopped in their tracks, swaying gently from side to side. Once she knew them to be within her magic, Iaine closed her eyes. "Tell me now, what are you doing here?"

"I believe I can answer that question for you my dear." Iaine turned to see a tall, lean man standing narcissistically straight, as if he took dear pride in his posture. His complexion was dark, wrinkled and aging. Hair black as midnight flowed from his head and face. He wore white robes but Iaine scoffed at them. The edges were tattered with wear and when she squinted in the quickly rising sunlight, Iaine could see faded dark red blotches.

She stood firm, curving her feet outward to run if she could. They had used some kind of bizarre metal that burned when she touched it to force her out of her falcon form. It had left her too weak to shape shift again. "Who are you?" she growled out. "I demand to know why you wear the druid robes!"

He threw his head back and laughed. "How do you know I'm not a druid humm? Surely in as vast on an island as this you can not know every tree hugger…"

"You are no Druid!" Iaine hollered at the top of her lungs. "There is nothing about your aura that speaks of my kind. How dare you falsify yourself to these poor people?" Iaine flexed her own magic, tentivly touching on his. He was a sorcerer, no doubt, but the stain on his magic was wicked and dark…terrifyingly similar to…to…

Iaine's eyes widened. **Oh gods no…** She forced herself not to say anything. This man was from the deserts, and his magic tasted as Mozenrath's had not too long ago. This man…this wizard somehow knew Mozenrath was here and had come looking for him. "What is your name?" she said slowly.

"Ah, forgive me child." He gave a sweeping bow. "I am Raghib, Necromancer extrodanare."

That made her assumption correct. "Necromancy…a foul magic. And these poor people…" she gestured to the men surrounding them. "Some of your work."

"Ah yes. It took me quite some time to possess all these fellows. You Gaulish folk are a stubborn race, you die hard." Raghib chuckled. "I had to obliterate the entire village just to get these few soldiers. What a waste."

"May a cat eat you and the devils eat the cat!" Iaine spat at him. "What do you want here?"

"Oh I think you know." He said, suddenly reaching forward to grab her arm. His nails dug into her flesh and Iaine bit back a yelp. "Where is Mozenrath?"

"Who?" She feigned ignorance.

"You know who you little slut!" He let his temper escape him and suddenly became very cold. "Listen to me little one. You do not need this kind of man mucking up your quaint little village. He is like me…filthy magic. He is not worth protecting or sheltering." Raghib drew a line under her chin. "I know he is here…somewhere."

"How do you know?" Iaine said. "This is a big island, he could be anywhere?"

The necromancer chuckled. "Oh no…I know he is near. See this…" he took a dark blue crystal from his cloak. "This responds to sorcery, magic and such energies. In fact it's one of Mozenrath's own creations. Yes, I believe he is very near."

"It responds to magic, how do you know it isn't responding to me or you?" Iaine argued, stalling for time.

"The magic of your kind is very different from what Mozenrath was used to at the time. It is not made to look for Druidry." Raghib explained. "Enough chatter child. Tell me where he is!" He took another item from his cloak and slammed it around her neck. Iaine flared her eyes only to have the power rush back at her ferociously. "Tut tut girl. You should close those pretty little eyes before somebody pops them out." The men around him began to shake themselves awake. "Another of Mozenrath's old tricks. Anti-magic necklace. Just for you my dear."

"The trouble with your sorcerers is…" Iaine started. "You rely only on your magic." She slipped down on her foot, balancing her weight and kicking her other leg out and around. Raghib yelled angrily as he fell to the ground. Before his ass hit the floor Iaine was up on her feet, running for the tree line. If she could just make it to the forest, the branches would shelter her as their friend, magic metal or no.

"Stop her!" The sorcerer shouted. "Bring her back!" He grabbed on of the shaking men as more began to rise after the woman. "Listen to me. If you can not capture her than follow her. Look for a pale man with flowing black hair and an aristocratic face." The man nodded absently and followed the others.

Iaine could hear the sound of thudding feet at her back. She put an extra spurt of speed on. **Please…** She thought to herself. Let something happen… She was still too weak, her usual quickness was not there. She began to fall behind, the sound of swords being unsheathed reached her ears. Please let something happen…please spirits…. Iaine pleaded as a man's hand closed around her arm. She looked up into his eyes, cold, dead black pits, lacking any emotion. A faint yellow light shone in the darkness, echoing some flicker of what was once a soul. "No!"

Then, like a great blanket, it came. Rolling across the rich green grass came the mists, pushing against the winds. A thick wall of fog and shadow, covering the trees, making the world above and bellow disappear. Iaine felt the familiar taste of earthen magic, and smiled, closing her eyes and surrendering herself to it. It fell over the invading army, the horses and war chariots becoming invisible to one another. Raghib cursed under his breath. "How is the wench managing this…?"

The thing once a man suddenly felt his grip loosen. When he turned back his captive was gone, his fingers curling around the mists. "Huh?" he looked around, trying to locate his comrades. They too seemed gone, lost in the thick fog.

Suddenly, from the shadows, the sound of running feet.

Closer…

Closer…

Heavy breathing escaped into his ear…

He turned to face it….

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggggggghhh!"

Raghib turned to where the sound had come from. "What the devil…"

"Ahhhhgh!"

"GAhhhhhulck."

The sounds of slaughter came from within the fog, swords being drawn, men falling. The music of chariots and horses grew nearer and nearer. Raghib saw one of the warriors pulling himself limply back, bleeding from his neck. He made it just out of the dense mists before his head fell off and rolled on the ground.

Surging up behind him, was the army of Ulster, faces enraged and blades drawn. They seemed to ride on the white cloud, as if it was a magnificent cloak on their shoulders. Raghib summoned his magic to defend himself, but it came too late. His head lay on the ground within seconds, lost among a pile of many.

Mozenrath watched from atop a hill, the lovely Iaine sharing his horse. She had escaped into the fog, allowing herself to be drawn away from her would be captors. Mozenrath had found her, weakened and bruised, but no worse for wear. She had accepted his hand when he offered her a ride, and now the two watched the battle draw to a quick close.

Ossian did not look directly, but from the corner of his eyes. Mozenrath was sitting tall on his horse, his arm wrapped around Iaine's waist rather protectively. She seemed a little uncomfortable from the grimace on her face, but her posture was slightly towards him, as if using the pale man's frame for support. The druid hummed to himself. Looking at them like that…they seemed almost…right.

He shook off the thought. There was no reason to assume anything between them. Iaine was simply tired and weakened, Mozenrath was just keeping her from falling off the horse. That was all. Ossian sighed. Iaine was something like a little sister to him, and his approval of Mozenrath was tolerant at best. He forced himself to shake the suggestion off. They wouldn't be right for one another anyhow. Mozenrath was too egotistical, his taking of Savern as a lover proved that. Savern was the type of woman that completely flattered the male pride. Young, beautiful, buxom. She would flirt and flatter and attach herself to one man until he felt his chest about to burst. Then just when that man would be ready to give her his heart to her on a silver platter, she would shy away, rejecting him for another. Still, nothing wrong with a healthy appetite.

Iaine on the other hand was worthy of better than Mozenrath. She was young, true. But her demeanor constantly flitted between carefree and careful. She gave herself cautiously, even stingily compared to some women. Yet it was not as if she held herself away from men. She enjoyed their company, flirted and smiled with ease, it was just rare that she followed through on her teasing. In fact, if one ignored her chest and waist, one would forget entirely that Iaine was female, and treat her just like another old friend to tell rude jokes and share a pint of ale with.

No, Mozenrath and Iaine were not right for one another.


	19. Chapter Seventeen

"Your perfect for one another." Savern said as if it were a simple statement of fact. Iaine rolled her eyes and set down the bowl of fruit. Her dear friend had been on her case for the past week, ever since she had come back from the battle with Mozenrath's arm round her waist. "It must have been so romantic, Mozenrath astride a proud stallion…"

"Mare." Iaine corrected her.

"Hair fanned out behind him…"

"He was wearing his nemeses." Iaine sighed, selecting a pear and munching on it.

"Fighting for your life!" Savern finished, hands on her hips with her pretty lower lip jutting out.

"Technically, Mozenrath didn't do any of the fighting. Our warriors did." Iaine took a chair and sat down, relaxing. "But I am grateful he thought to send the mists along. It gave our fighters the edge they needed against those creatures."

"Ugh!' Savern threw up her hands. "Your absolutely hopeless do you know that?" She protested and straightened her skirts. "Mozenrath practically made himself the hero of our little village by rescuing you and you turn your nose up at him."

"What I don't understand is why you haven't gone back to his hut Savern." Iaine answered.

"Why would I? I have had my fill of him and he of me by now I suspect. Besides, in case you didn't notice, the victory feast provided more than ample fruits for him to sample." Savern sighed. "Not that he did…but still…"

"Yes I noticed." Iaine hummed. When the warriors had returned, the Mabon feast had become a war feast, with roasting oxen and flowing mead. As was due every warrior, women flocked to them, showing their gratitude to the men who'd risked their lives. Mozenrath, as the man to whom the warriors owed such a small loss of men, was getting his fair share of breasts pressed against his front.

However, he seemed to take little notice of them.

Iaine hadn't been avoiding him. Well, at least up till now. The last three days had been spent with the smith, hacking away at that damn anti-magic manacle around her neck. Iaine rubbed her throat self consciously, feeling the red welt it had left behind. She was distinctly uncomfortable, but for more than one reason. That reason was exactly why she was avoiding Mozenrath.

Savern opened her mouth as if she was going to say something else, when Tristan appeared out of nowhere. "Run along Savern child." He said gently. "We have druid business to discuss. " Savern looked unhappy at being dismissed in such a way, but one did not talk back to Tristan. She gave her friend a quick good bye and headed off. Tristan leaned on his staff in a habitual show of age as he settled into a chair. Nether spoke for a while, just listened to the soft sounds of the day. Children played or helped their elders. Hunting parties were being organized to bring in what they could before snow hit. The birds either flew to warmer weather or chirped softly in the trees. Mozenrath was off with Cigfa, training in medicine for the winter months, cures for soar throat, stuffy head, fever, snotty nose and the like. Finally, Tristan looked Iaine over.

"So…someone knows he is here?"

"Apparently yes." Iaine's first thing to do when she returned was relay all that had been said back to Tristan.

"We are indeed lucky then, that Mozenrath did not become directly involved in the battle. If he stole those spells and devices from Mozenrath's old home…"

"Mozenrath might have recognized them. His memories might have come flooding back and then…" Iaine closed her eyes. "We are fortunate he stayed at a distance." She shook her head. "Tristan how much longer do we intend to keep this up? Is it right to keep a man's own past from him? Even a past such as his?"

"I have often asked myself that question as of late." Tristan looked around for a moment, as if making sure they could not be overheard, then turned back to her. "Iaine…for many weeks now, Mozenrath has been coming to me, telling me of dreams." Iaine cocked her head to the side curiously. "I tell you this because I have sensed certain things brewing, and so that you may understand. Mozenrath has shared what he thinks to be only the strangeness of the dream world, coming and going at it's whims. But my spirit tells me these are recollections of his old life. There was a man, perhaps the one who trained him in necromancy. I believe he was injured, physically and mentally by this man, to such a degree it tarnished him inside." Tristan arched an eyebrow. "Do you understand."

"Someone he should have been able to trust, a father figure, and he was betrayed." Iaine sighed.

Tristan nodded. "I do not tell you this to make you pity him Iaine. A man like Mozenrath would only be offended at your pity. Besides, he does not even know that what his dreams say actually happened to him. Do you see what I am saying Iaine? Mozenrath's past, he was hurt, and so he hurt, he was betrayed, and so he betrayed." Tristan spun his staff between his thumb and index fingers. "And now it is if that never happened. It is all but erased from his mind. Would you that I told him the truth?"

"I see what you mean Tristan." Iaine said softly.

Tristan put a hand on Iaine's cheek. "The Mozenrath we heard tales of is dead. The Mozenrath who lives now…and what will become of him…remains to be seen."

"But what if others come seeking him? What if old enemies reemerge?" Iaine said.

"Then we will defend our fellow Druid, as he defended you." Tristan stated firmly.

Iaine smiled at him, chuckling under her breath. "I wish I were as you Tristan, always so sure of the right course." She looked around the village, watching the children play with a stick and hoop. "It always seems like you know exactly what needs to be done."

"No more than anyone else child." Tristan said as he rose. "I only know what I must do. Speaking of which…" he gestured to Cigfa's hut. "You should thank Mozenrath for saving your life. I'm sure he'd appreciate the gesture." Tristan winked like a young boy.

"Oh not you too!" Iaine hung her head.

"Iaine, I have absolutely no idea what you mean." Tristan smiled knowingly and once again leaned on his staff for support. "None the less, you should thank him during his lessons today. It's the polite thing to do."


	20. Chapter Eighteen

Mozenrath calmed himself, concentrating on the world around him. It was becoming easier and easier to feel the way things reacted to his presence. If he remained very very still, he could sense the spirits inside of the forest come out to peek at him. He had looked back at them, marveling at their quasi-human forms and wild looks. It disturbed him though, that while a dryad or tree spirit would come right up to Iaine and whisper to her, they would not come within a few feet of his body. They would linger in the branches or peep out from behind flours, but never did they come close enough to touch.

"Why is that?" Mozenrath turned to Iaine in askance as she gave a small bowl of honey to a tree sprite. "Why do they avoid me?"

"You are still very new to them, and not of Erie. It will take time for them to come to trust you." Iaine said convincingly. It was true in part, the fey creatures were always a little apprehensive of new people. But the larger part of their avoidance, was Mozenrath's aura. The dark taint of his old necromantic ways still hovered in his body, marked by that skeletal hand. They could sense it beneath the simple gloves he wore at all times, and would not come too close. Iaine wished she could explain it too him better. Mozenrath seemed truly hurt that the little dark winged creatures would just barley come close enough to snatch the apples he had left for them, then fly away before he could touch them.

"Thank you." Iaine said quickly, hoping to distract him from his thoughts. Mozenrath looked back to her questioningly. "I wanted to thank you for helping to save me." Did she sound as nervous speaking out loud as she did in her head.

"I did not do much." Mozenrath said sheepishly.

"Yes you did. The work you did with the fogs, it was brilliant. Simple, but just what was needed to turn the tides in our favor." There, that sounded better. "It was quite admirable. And besides…you did come to aid me personally."

Mozenrath smiled a little. Unsure if she was teasing him or not. Well, if she was, he didn't mind it as much as he used to. "I was very unsure of that casting I did. I'm surprised it worked to be honest."

"Ah but you're a capable man Mozenrath." Iaine smiled at him, a little more flirtatiously than she'd intended. "If that had failed, you would have figured something out." She lifted her fingers and a hamadryad reached out to entwine her branches around it, taking the caramelized nuts and munching on them quietly. This was their last chance before the snow set in to gather all the nutrition they could. Iaine's gifts were quite welcome. Besides, they enjoyed spending time with her, they could not speak in the same tongue, indeed a forest spirits voice was more like winds through the branches than any human speech known. Suddenly the forest spirit balked, jerking back away into the trees.

Iaine turned to see that Mozenrath had moved closer to her. She gulped, feeling the heat radiate off his body. Iaine could not help but notice that he was greatly changed from the pale, skinny sorcerer who hand landed at the mountain bottom. He would always be wiry, she suspected, but over the too thin frame, hard work, and hiking had made hard, tight muscles across his body. His skin tone seemed almost normal now, though he would never be as darkly tanned as some of the farmers and bondsmen. Oh there was no denying it, Mozenrath was quite handsome.

Mozenrath too, was taking careful notice of Iaine's reaction to him. He had never really paid attention before, too distracted by her incessant teasing and annoyed by the way her eyes could control him. Her eyes, even with the sharp light of magic gone they were amazing. The irises were the color of dark molasses, flecks of rich emerald green dotting around the pupil. Her face was strong and proud, made in such a way that it reflected her emotion precisely. Iaine's mouth was open, showing white even teeth and a small pink tongue. She seemed…frightened? No, apprehensive about his approach. He kind of liked that feeling, seeing her shy and even a little subdued. It aroused a deep, primal male instinct to conquer and protect. Without waiting, he pushed his hand behind her head and slammed his lips onto hers…

Just as suddenly, Mozenrath found himself laying face down in a pile of dirt, wondering what had happened. He turned over just in time to see Iaine ball up her fist and aim for his head. "Wait…!" he ducked, avoiding her hand by just inches. He stumbled away and stood, truly confused. Iaine let out a sound much akin to a growl and began to stalk off, muttering to herself. "Wait…Iaine wait…!"

"Oh now I am to wait for my rescuers call?" She said mockingly. "Yes please brave shining night, what would you have your maiden wait for?"

Poor Mozenrath, The twists and curves of a females mind eluded him. "Well…I thought…"

"You thought what?" Iaine snapped, her teeth grit and her beautiful eyes blazing with anger unparalleled.

Mozenrath suddenly barked back, standing his ground to cross his arms. "I thought you wanted to thank me."

Poor choice of words.

The crunching sound echoed in the forest glade, the tree spirits giggling in amusement. Mozenrath clutched his nose, blood dripping from between his fingers. He let out a long, low groan, eyes tearing up. Iaine nodded curtly, as if satisfied and wiped the blood off her knuckled. "Serves you right." She snarled and ran off through the woods, just as the first flakes of snow began to fell.


	21. Chapter Nineteen

He couldn't believe it. He simply could not believe it! Mozenrath grit his teeth against the sharp, biting winter cold and wound his heavy sheep's wool cloak tighter around his body. Winter was here, blanketing the rich green around them with blinding white. The village was barely made walk able by the hoof prints of the little pony carts that had turned the dirt to slush. One had to be very careful not to loose their balance and go flying head first into the sticky wet mess.

But Mozenrath's mind wasn't on the road conditions. They were on the sight he had just seen from Iaine's home. He had been shocked, no, outraged to see Essus… **Essus**…come from her hut early that morning with a satisfied smirk on his strong jawed face. Iaine had followed, but as soon as she caught sight of Mozenrath's a foul look crossed her pretty features and she turned back inside.

"Ah the fickleness of women eh Mozenrath?" Essus grinned, patting Mozenrath on the shoulder. "Now don't be so upset friend…there are plenty of women with warm, waiting thighs…"

"Essus…just shut up." Mozenrath growled and shrugged off the druid's hand, walking off on his own.

Essus chuckled to himself, eyes narrowed. What did it matter that nothing had actually happened in Iaine's home? Did it matter that he had come there to tell Iaine he wanted to sooth her hurts and, when rejected, had stayed just long enough to hear Mozenrath's footsteps and appear with a big grin on his face? Of course not! It was none of Mozenrath's business what was done inside Iaine's hut. Or what wasn't done for that matter.

Oh Essus had just about enough of that smug sorcerer. First, he had been allowed to live after his atrocity on the mountain, second, he had the nerve to intrude upon a ritual. Then, then…as if to add insult to injury, he'd dared be Druid potential! Oh that irked Essus to no end. And it seemed as though he just kept adding to it. Tristan was now spending more and more time with the pale foreigner. Essus was no fool. He had been watching the specific kind of training Mozenrath was undergoing and recognized it as the same he had endured. Tristan was grooming Mozenrath as a Chief Druid.

A position meant to be **his** and his alone!

None of that!

Not to mention the way they all protected the damn sorcerer! For the sake of all gods Tristan had even laid down and edict that no one was permitted to tell Mozenrath that the battle had been all over him. How many good men had been lost to keep their pale stranger a secret?

Essus fumed to himself over the audacity of his competition. No doubt the fool didn't **know** he was being trained to take up the staff when Tristan passed. What idiocy! And last…oh yes last…Iaine.

Now that, he could admit, was his own damn fault. He had ignored her after her initiation into the inner circle of Druids and failed to notice the way she paid him attentions. Who could blame her for discovering her own powers of persuasion (which lacked the involvement of her eyes)? Yes, Iaine's constant rejection of him as a lover was his own fault. But still, it was plain as day that she wouldn't have minded Mozenrath's attentions.

"Well now, aren't we brooding?" Savern appeared as if from nowhere, hands on her hips with a subtle smile on her lovely face. "I know it's common for Druids to ponder, but you seemed particularly displeased about something."

Essus paused, then smiled, the kind of lazy, charming smile that had brought many a woman to his bed before. "Well now, trying to discover the secrets of magic Savern?"

"Oh no." She sidled up to him, 'accidentally' bumping her rear against his hip. "Just concerned about one of our Druids. Perhaps a head ache…you know…" She bent slightly, showing the crest of her bosom with excellent precision. "I have an excellent remedy for that."

"So does Cigfa." He loved this game, played so subtly.

"But her's isn't as good as mine." Savern winked coyly. Savern knew she was over playing her role, but damn it she felt the cause worth while. **Poor Iaine**. She thought privately. She had met men like Essus before, driven with the need to possess and rule. Dogs all of them, the bone the next dog had was always juicer than the one in their own teeth. Truly, she did not find much about Essus to like. He was exactly the kind of man she had feared being wedded too, the whole reason she avoided marriage on the first place. And now, here she was, offering herself as a distraction from Iaine. **Ah well, it's worth it. **She promised herself. Maybe it would give those two fools enough time to realize how they felt about one another.


	22. Chapter Twenty

Things take time, and time moves no faster when pride is involved. Snow piled up over night and had to be shoveled and trodden on to make the small village livable. The livestock had been brought in to the surrounding fields so that a close guard to be kept over them. One never knew what could choose to attack when the blizzards came and those with fangs and claws became hungry. People stuck to the indoors most times, coming out only for what was necessary and not stopping to chat.

Mozenrath felt sorry for the people forced to stay out in the fields, especially at this time. Most of the people in the village were headed to the chieftains lodge, the only structure in the village built in a rectangle as opposed to the circular huts most people lived in. It was the Winter Solstice, and rather than disappear into the woods for their ritual, the Druids took this time of year to bring their celebration in among the people. As he entered the lodge, the air was filled the with smell of roast oxen and pig.

As per custom, the women were doing all of the cooking. This wasn't so much a sexist move, as a practical one. Besides, any time a man would come near the bowls and platters, he would be hit over the head with a wooden spoon and told to go sit back where he belonged. Men were wanted or needed to cook. Besides, the women knew their praises would come when the thick slices of meat hit the table. Their husbands would flaunt their wives talents, bragging and boasting that Cadwallon's wife Saba could cook better than Addanc's woman Bodua.

Mozenrath took a place near the head of the table by Tristan. There was a sudden whooshing of cold air as the door opened and a tall woman wearing a sheep fleece cloak walked in. Her bright hazel eyes landed on him and Mozenrath turned away, recognizing it as Iaine. There was a snort from his left and Mozenrath looked up at Tristan. "What?" he said shortly.

The old druid looked at him appraisingly, but said nothing further. Truly, he had expected this to be done with by now. T didn't take much to figure out what had happened between the two of them. Mozenrath had been too forward, or to forceful, and hurt Iaine's delicate pride. She had reacted and now the rift between them grew larger with every passing moment.

The great hall filled up quickly, people taking up the drums or the flute and bringing music to the gathering. The feast was set at the table, great hunks of meat dripping rich fat and spices, baked fruits covered in cinnamon and sugar, cheeses and breads and drinks and vegetables! It was fit for a king. Kilydd, the bard for the grove, sat by the fire, singing sweet music and telling tales of heroes and adventures of days gone by.

There was a great fire place behind the chieftain's seat, as well as three smaller ones places around for folks to continue cooking and sitting around. The delicious warmth was such a wonderful change from the freezing outside. Another reason this celebration could last all night long, nobody was exactly eager to run back to their homes through a pressing snow fall. As the temperature in the room rose, some people were even deciding to sleep it out there, using their cloaks as a pillow or blanket.

Mozenrath noted that Iaine stayed a fare distance away from him, as well as another member of the male population. Not that Essus seemed to be aware of it. He was sitting happily in a large chair with none other than Savern draped around his shoulders. Mozenrath scowled. That was an old, but still sore wound, one he suspected would never fully heal. Her eyes crossed over his briefly and Savern gave a fond, indulgent smile, then turned her attention back to Essus.

"To hell with it." Mozenrath murmured and stood up, seeking Iaine's figure. He found her, sitting by Kilydd as he strummed a stringed instrument and sang a rather long winded ballad. Mozenrath willed himself to be strong, he didn't know what he was going to say when he got over there, but he couldn't stand the sight of Savern and Essus like that.

A sudden howl cut through the warm air. Everyone froze, looking around to see if it had been their imaginations. There was a moment of silence, and then again, a high, snarling howl that could only mean one thing. The wolves had come to feed. The door was suddenly flung open and the air rushed madly inside, as though the winter longed to defeat the coziness of the indoors. A fierce blizzard had raised in the hours they had all been together and a man came stumbling in, his cloak white not do to the thick sheep's wool but rather the three inches of snow atop it.

"Wolves!' he cried as he fell in the doorway. A man rushed forward and supported him as a young woman ran forward with hot mead. He shoved the cup away, his throat hoarse and swollen from the sudden change of cold and heat. "Wolves! They are on the sheep…" he coughed and swayed, losing strength.

The chief of the clan was on his feet in an instant, grabbing for his short sword and bow. Everything moved like wildfire, the men all taking hold of whatever could be used as a weapon. Man of them were seasoned hunters who knew well how to kill a predator, others were simple farm men, who wished to protect their heard. But none the less, every man took a weapon and headed for the door.

"Mozenrath." Tristan said suddenly. "Go with them." Mozenrath knew what he meant by this order. Wolves, even when attacking the herds, were filled with spirits same as any tree or river. It was his responsibility as a Druid to see those spirits sent well off. Just as he was reaching for his cloak, Mozenrath felt Iaine's hand brush by his. She had grabbed her cape off the wall and was swinging it around her body.

"Your not coming with me." He said firmly.

"No time for argument." Iaine said firmly. "If one of the men is injured you will need an extra set of hands."

"Cigfa is senior healer…"

"Cigfa is in her winter years. The blizzard would be too much for her." Iaine snapped her jaw shut as if this was a waste of time. "Quickly."

Mozenrath didn't bother to turn and ask for Tristan's response. He knew the Chief Druid would agree with Iaine and tell them to get a move on. "Fine." He the open the door and followed after the warrior out into the cold. Iaine was there beside him in a flash, her frame and features covered in the shaggy cloak.

The fields, and the livestock that dwelled in them, belonged to the clan. Though a man could say he possessed an allotted amount of cows or sheep, it did not matter if the dun brown cow he owned was the same dun brown cow his neighbor owned. They were the property of the tribe, and so, when some one, wildlife or bandit, tried to take them, the whole tribe was expected to protect them.

It did not take long to run from the Chiefs home in the middle of the village to the pastures and fields. The Chief lodge stood towards to back of the village, up along the side of the forest, just beyond which stood a great mountain range. The two druids kept a quick pace with the warriors an within minuets they had entered the snow covered fields.

As if on cue, a savage growl rang through the air, sharp and angry. One of the men hollered, he had found blood where the snow had been kicked and shuffled about.

"A sheep? Is that all they took?" Fergus said, leaning against his spear. A sheep was of some importance, especially in the long, cruel months of winter when not only it's meat, but fleece was needed.

"No…a boy…" The warrior held up a pendant, made of simple twine and rocks. It was the kind children usually made to mimic the bronze and gold jewelry of their parents. There was a collective growl and shuffle from the men gathered and they turned to the druids for answers.

The Druids, as the speakers of the otherworld and servants to the Earth, were expected to know how to proceed in such matters. Mayhap the village had angered the spirits, and the child had been taken as retribution. Or it could be a test of their courage as men to protect their homes against the unforeseen.

Or…it was just chance.

Mozenrath moved forward before Iaine could, taking the little toy necklace in his hands. Pain pushed through the tips of his fingers, but not the pain of death. No, the boy was alive when the necklace had fallen, grievously injured, but alive. That meant there was still hope. He looked at Iaine and she nodded. "He may still live." Mozenrath pronounced.

"Right." Said one of the senior warriors, a big lad with shoulders like rock named Miach. "Separate into groups of three. First one to find the wolves or the boy send up on your horn. Don't go farther than the forest edge in this storm or we'll not be able to find yea." He practically had to yell over the wind and snow, looking out to see men quickly separating into threes and heading off.

"Let them do what they know." Iaine said, taking Mozenrath's arm as he started off with the warriors. "They are of the physical, and action is in their blood. We are of the spiritual, we must find the boy through other means if we can." She looked to the necklace in Mozenrath's hands. "Give to me."

Mozenrath handed it over willingly. After all, Iaine was better trained than he, perhaps she would feel more accurately. His pride ached a little, but there was something more precious than pride at stake here.

Iaine hummed as she turned the simple jewelry over in her hands, the dull ache pushing against her skin. She pushed inward, past the blinding white lance of pain, past the tearing of teeth and claw that seemed to mark her own skin. "He defended himself…" she whispered, her knife arm suddenly feeling strong and hurried. "But there were too many…" she felt a tearing at her leg, arm and something pounce on her back. "He was dragged off…" she groaned…it was difficult to tell. There should have been a path in the snow, showing the direction the child had been taken, but nothing could be seen to indicate his path.

Iaine began to slowly turn in circles, seeking some sign or sense of direction. "There!" she said suddenly, pointing towards the mountains.

"The mountains…" Mozenrath said doubtfully. "That's impossible, they would have had to…drag him through the village." Of course. Most of the village had been in the lodge celebrating Yule. All that noise would have covered the sound of anything! And with all the foot prints, cart marks, and slush in the streets nobody would have notice one more drag mark.

Briefly, Mozenrath admired the strategy of the wolf pack.

"We must hurry." Mozenrath said and began running. There was a sudden cry from behind him and when he looked back, a falcon took off from the ground, cutting through the wind. She circled once, then headed off in the direction of the mountain, the necklace clutched in her claws. Brilliant. Mozenrath said to himself. With Iaine in the sky they'd have a much better chance of spotting the wolves in this storm. He hurried after her, keeping his cloak wound tightly about him.

Iaine, in the mean time, was already regretting her decision to fly. The wind resistance was barely allowing her to make any headway, and even with her raptor eyes the ground was nearly invisible. Still, it was the best hope they had to finding the child. And she was not so stupid as to rely strictly on her own eyes. Necklace clutched tightly, she was following the feelings of pain.

**Don't die little one.** She whispered to the boys spirit. **Endure the pain, it will let us find you. **She flapped furiously, soaring higher and higher and gave a screech into the air, making sure Mozenrath could still find her. An unintelligible holler answered her, but it meant he could hear where she called from.

Bellow, Mozenrath had begun to climb the mountain. No easy task while weighed down with cloak and robe. He should have thought enough to grab a staff. Too late now. He set his feet and hands to the mountain, climbing as fast as he could and praying to the spirits of the storm that they would not blow him from the side.

A sudden screech ripped from the wall of snow ten feet up. Mozenrath began to run up the path, trying not to slip on ice and dunes. He pulled himself up over the wall just in time to see Iaine drop beneath the trees, presumably to change. **No!** He willed suddenly and saw the falcon form balk. **We need more people. Show the others where we are!**

Perhaps, if shed had the lips to do so, she would have argued. But Iaine tipped her feathers and began soaring back to the village to find help.

It did not occur to her until later, that Mozenrath had communicated his needs without use of mouth or gestures.

Mozenrath steadied himself and began to search. Iaine had to have seen something up here to make her screech. He laid his hand on a tree and suddenly jerked back, feeling a warm wetness on his fingers. He looked down at the thick red liquid congealed on his hand and gulped. **No, still alive…** his senses told him. The blood remained warm, he could not be far off.

A savage, hungry snarl caught his attention and Mozenrath broke into a run. It was hard to actually run in the knee deep snow, what he succeeded in was more leaps and bounds across the drifts. He cut through the line of trees and skid to a stop, his eyes widening at the sight there.

The child couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen, yet he lay there, one leg badly torn into, blood pouring from several deep gashes in his body. He clutched weakly to a blade and a look of determination, one wolf dead on the ground in front of him. The seven others were not deterred, their white fangs gleamed and they circled, muscles tense and waiting.


	23. Chapter Twenty One

Iaine heard a scream as she brought the warriors up the mountain. It was nether male nor female, but the sound of desperation and anger. "Hurry damn you!" she snarled at the men, brandishing swords and spear and ready for battle. They were nearly there. Why did it have to be so much harder to do this on the ground? They only had a limited amount of time before those wolves would rip the child to shreds.

**Mozenrath is there**. She reminded herself. **He won't allow the child to be eaten.** Would he…no, of course not. Maybe the old sorcerer would have. But Mozenrath was Druid now, he would not allow a life to be stolen like that. Right?

Right?

Her eyes suddenly remembered where they were. "Here! Quickly men!" she hollered and began to run. The snow had slowed down enough for them to move without being raped by the wind. "Mozenrath!" she screamed out. Nothing responded. "Mozenrath!" she called again, desperately as she broke through the tree line. "Moze…"

Iaine came to a full stop as the sight lay before her. Mozenrath was there, clutching the bleeding body of the child as though protecting it. His body was heaving as if he could not breath properly and his face was hidden by hair. Scorch marks lay in rings around the trees and the snow, which by now should have been covering them both, was melted away in a perfect circle around them. The smell of burning fur was thick and as she approached, Iaine could see the bodies of the pack still smoldering.

"Moze…" she whispered, putting out her hand. "Mozenrath…" she said and gently touched his shoulder.

Two things seemed to happen at once. Iaine jerked her hand back from the heat of his flesh, and Mozenrath looked up at her, his eyes gone entirely black.

She did not scream, but looked at him, unafraid. "Mozenrath, the child. The child in your arms. We have to get him back to the village for healing…"

Mozenrath tilted his head awkwardly, but suddenly seemed to come back to himself with a great shudder. "The…boy…" he murmured and looked down. "The boy! Iaine he's bleeding his life out!"

Iaine nodded as the men came through the clearing. "Mozenrath can you stand?" she urged but he shook his head. "Alright then. You two!" she called out orders to two burly men. "Quickly, come and get the boy down to Cigfa's!" Mozenrath willingly let them take the load and tried to make himself stand. His whole body felt weak and pained, aching through every muscle and bone.

And his right hand felt as though burning.

The image of your face appears.  
I cannot wipe away your tears.


	24. Chapter Twenty Two

Iaine searched around her hut for the necessary treatments. Two days later and the child had still not awakened from his state. The druids had not attempted to rouse him yet, allowing his body to heal…at least as much as it could. Cigfa and she had spent several hours huddled around young Pelles's frame. The wolves had torn at him so badly that one leg was nearly ripped off. They had been forced to finished the job themselves.

Care for the boy had been assigned to Iaine and Mozenrath, who, according to Cigfa, deserved a chance to see what his rescue had brought about. She had to admit, he seemed adamant about caring for Pelles, though most of what he did was assist the two women. Men, at least in her opinion, were not as suited to healing as women. It wasn't that they could not heal. It was simply not in their nature. Young males were always convinced of their invincibility, adult males of their superiority. Older men ignored the injuries and those near death did not want to admit how close they were. Besides, the healing Druids had been women successively for the past six generations. It was tradition.

Still, Iaine felt pity well up for young Pelles. She recognized him immediately from the little, tight nit group of village orphans. A child who no longer had their birth parents was by no means short of kin. They were simply adopted by the village as a whole, fed and clothed and disciplines and given lodging until they because old enough to take up a trade. Then it was the responsibility of their new master to see to a boy's welfare. Pelles had been taken up by the herdsmen just last year and had show promise, unlike the other boys who snuck off to eat sweet clover to bath in the stream, by sticking to his duties and keeping a close eye over the herds. Now, with a leg missing and his left arm broken, there would be few who could take him on as apprentice. Theirs was a very physical life, most days were filled with hard, vigorous activity.

**Pity he was not born Druid.** Iaine thought as she crossed the village to Cigfa's hut. As a Druid he would not have to worry about battle or hard labor, most of his time would be devoted to studies. Perhaps, if puberty had not lowered his voice unpleasantly, she could talk to Kilydd about taking Pelles on as apprentice bard. If they boy was not Druid it would matter little, he could still take up as a musician in some nobles court.

Iaine pauses as she drew the door flap aside and saw Mozenrath bent over the youth, his lips pressed firmly to Pelles's. Suddenly he drew back, took another sip from a steaming bowl and pried the boy's mouth open again, massaging the throat until the brother went down. It was a tedious and time consuming process, but as he had yet to awaken from his accident, it was the only way to keep him fed.

Iaine felt her chest twinge a little. The scene touched her deeper than she cared to admit. She had not considered Mozenrath to be the kind of person willing to put such care into another human being.

**Remember who he was.** Her mind warned her strongly. **The tales of his cruelty reached even this island. You heard the stories, you saw proof of them when that strange necromancer kidnapped you.**

**The man that was is not the same as the man that is.** This voice only made the twinge in her chest burn hard. Iaine looked in at Mozenrath again. **Look at what he has become Iaine, his past is exactly where it belongs. **Her thoughts swam as she realized Mozenrath was looking at her. She did not flinch but walk inside quickly and began to set herself to work at Pelles's wounds. "How is he doing?"

Mozenrath looked her over for a moment, feeling strange, then answered softly. "He's doing better. At least he's stopped trying to fight in his sleep. I checked his leg this morning, no odd smells but there is some strange coloration near the knee you might want to look at."

Iaine gently unwrapped the bandages and nodded. "A minor infection. I'll need your help in making a compress and salve. But it's nothing to worry about." She took her bag and removed crushed marigold and hemp. "Here, grind that up together and soak it in a small cup of water. I'll smooth it out later." She began setting about making a comfrey compress for the leg.

A few moments passed in silence as they worked on the young boy. Suddenly, Mozenrath turned and put a hand on Iaine's shoulder. "I'm sorry. You know…for… well…for the obvious."

Iaine chuckled under her breath. "You were being male, it's a common enough mistake if you swell between the legs." **And, if Savern didn't fib, you swell quite a bit.** She hushed herself and turned away to avoid letting Mozenrath see the blush. She heard an embarrassed cough from him and chided herself for being so coarse. "And I was being female, a common enough mistake…"

"If you swell at the chest." Mozenrath muttered, unsure of how she would take his jibe. To his surprise, Iaine let out a strong, clear laugh and turned back around to face him. He grinned back and suddenly felt stronger. "Truce?" he said shortly.

"Truce." Iaine agreed. "Druids have better things to do than argue amongst themselves." She wrapped the young boys wound back up and made sure to press it firm. "Speaking of which, now that we are no longer avoiding each other, you still have lessons to continue."

Mozenrath nodded and they waited until Cigfa returned to take charge over Pelles. Iaine put her things back in the hut and they headed off for the river. She preferred teaching him by the cool waters, they helped her keep her head and thoughts grounded. This time of year, the waters were positively stunning. Huge blankets of white coated the banks, giving away the foot prints of wildlife. The river itself was a sheet of glass, fish just barely visible beneath it as they swam to stay alive. The sun hid behind a veil of clouds, letting the world shine with a blue silver glow.

Mozenrath looked over at Iaine. Her skin was the color of oak trees and her hair was like a bonfire rising from the woods. And, of course, her eyes. Those hazel green eyes that held a spark of the Otherworld. Now that he thought about it, she looked a little different from the others of the tribe. Both her mother and father looked altogether human, even Tristan, with his wisdom that seemed near divine at time, did not give off the same aura as Iaine did. He would have to ask her about her ancestry one day.

Mozenrath and Iaine sat down together beside the willow tree, speaking of the changes of the natural world. The lessons had changed since from when Mozenrath had first begun. It used to be a great deal of listening, keeping his mouth shut and being smacked around for his smart mouth. But now it seemed as though he was being actively asked for his opinion. It seemed more like holding a deeply philosophical conversation than actively being taught anything. But he was learning to ask questions, if not interpret the answers.

Not long into the lesson, Essus walked by, with Savern wrapped tightly around his arm. He made himself conspicuous by his overdone attempts to ignore them, for when he saw Iaine and Mozenrath sitting (if truth be told) a little closer than normal, he grimaced and snapped away from them, almost dragging Savern with him. If she seemed bothered by his possessive behavior, neither could tell, for the wench held a secretive smile on her face.

"Why does he despise me so?" Mozenrath asked absentmindedly. "What did I ever do to him?"

"Other lives maybe." Iaine sighed. "Sometimes, people are great enemies in their lives before this one, and they never quite get over the enmity. But, if I had to hazard a guess in this age…I'd say he sees you as competition." She dared not say too much of what Tristan had confided in her, official decisions had not yet been made. But she could let the light shine on him a little. "It's no secret that since you showed Druidic potential, Tristan has not paid as much attention to the supposed 'future Chief Druid' as he might like. Besides, there are…certain things…that Essus would like very much to have and can not possess."

"If he's Chief Druid potential, why can't he have them?" Mozenrath asked, not quite picking up the hint.

"Because…" Iaine said in a cold voice. "He would not deserve nor appreciate them."

Mozenrath turned, very slowly, to meet Iaine's stunning eyes with his own elegant gray ones. "And…are you saying that **I** deserve these things?" A twitch of a smile at the corner of her lips gave him hope.

"Maybe…maybe not." Iaine hummed and swung her hair over her shoulder.

They fall so gently to the ground  
And say so much yet make no sound.  
I reach out toward the brilliant sky.  
I've lived enough. Now let me die.

_To Be Continued…_


End file.
